The manor, three stories tall when counting the attic, is like a baroque needle in a haystack of trees. The towering green structure lorded over its fenced lands, casting a formidable shadow in the dead of night. Small statues of flying pokemon perch above several roofed windows, which combined with its jagged architecture, created a foreboding facade which had played a part in this manor's spooky reputation. And of all its dozens of windows only three of them are lit: the two flanking its giant chestnut doors and one on the second floor which the visitors were told was the Guildmaster's office.
They follow Leon up to the manor's door, then around the house to a garden hidden on its left. In the bright moonlight they can see the figure of a fountain resting behind a wall of hedges, round and featureless just like the one they had seen in Town. Behind it is a greenhouse nestled in the farthest corner of the manor's grounds, and next to it was a shack with its door swaying in the wind. From where they stood they could see the glow of the office window, conveniently placed in such a way it couldn't see the fountain a few meters to the side.
As they pass through an entrance in the hedges Leon immediately takes a seat on one of the gray stone benches. Underneath Leon's cowl his arms were across his chest, trying to keep heat from escaping.
"This is where it took place." The smeargle lets his tail dangle to the ground, its bright glow coats the terracotta tiles in gold. "I'll be right here if you need anything. Do you have something you can write in?"
Prinn, about to say something, just clasps his beach shut. Braviary towers over him, watching the rookie cartographer unclasp the bamboo tube from its holster and pop the container open. He scrounges the inside until he produces a large piece of folded parchment followed by a garish blue pen. He then walks to the other side of the bench where he unfurls a roll of paper. One side of it has the charcoal outlines and sketches of a burgeoning map, the other is blank - now reserved for this impromptu investigation. The tube has the bottom of it sanded down to a flat surface so it can be a paperweight.
Leon lifts his tail onto the bench to serve as a lamp, staring at the charcoal scribbles with fascination. Prinn puts his pen to the paper as he looks back at Braviary.
"Do we start with the suspects, the uh...motive? What should I do?"
"Can't say." Braviary shrugs, "Wisdom says we'd ought to leave all fields blank, or better yet, leave no field at all and just write whatever we see. You don't need to write down every single thing, unless?"
"No." Leon answers, "Just anything you may think is important. Guildmaster probably just wants something so he can put it in the archives."
"You have an archive?" Prinn chimes in.
"We have a library. Some of that's bound to be archival. Files, drawings, maps, manifests; you know the whole deal. I don't know about running a guild, but if it's anything like a business it never hurts to keep things written down."
"Gotta ask, friend." Braviary chimes in. "Have you ever run a business?"
Leon turns his head to the Braviary. He blinks, staring off in contemplation.
"I have experience as a trader, but I was mostly a caravan runner. I was nowhere near as big or as strong as the usual fodder they like to send out on caravans, couldn't even haul the carts they wanted us to." Leons shows Braviary his arms, his frail Smeargle arms. "I still got grouped up with them because they were low on pokemon who knew how to use Flash. I told them they were better off doing day runs rather than announcing to the world 'hey, we've got all sorts of goodies in these crates'. They didn't listen to me until after we got robbed. By then, my application here already got accepted."
"Apparently the winery who made us do all those runs vanished not too long ago. I guess the robbers got tired of going after the Beedril and finally went for the hive. The delicious, oran-scented hive."
"You think it's the same people who went after the wine here?" Prinn had been listening. "Maybe we're dealing with serial wine-thieves?"
"Good question, Kid." Braviary nods, "How far away was this winery?"
"Far enough, so I don't think it's likely. I can tell you any operation which manages to span all the way to Scoria Town would be a nightmare to run. The caravans, the smuggling, the fact we're so far off makes us a pain to go after. It's probably more worth it to run around a place like Calico Town around where the Winery was. More people, more places to steal from - more pokemon to gang up on."
"If there's more notion to suspect they were involved then I'll tell you more; otherwise you should probably go give the shack a look." Leon flicks his tail. "There's a lantern in there if you need a light."
Now, it wasn't unlike a guild to quarrel with crooks. Robbers and brutes are half the reason a pokemon would consider making a guild, so they're drawn to each other like bug-types. There is no shortage of cruel pokemon in the world happy to stomp out everyone and everything in their path, guilds, business, innocent lives included. Similarly there were a lot of pokemon who don't like the idea of some organisation with a bunch of cronies who have been trained vigorously by bounty hunting and dungeon delving to have a position of authority over their town. Guilds have a way of always attracting a bad bunch.
To what end were guilds necessary is a question not even Braviary knew. There seems to be general agreement among well-lived pokemon where when a real threat to everyone's way of life rears its head, it's always good to have a body of capable pokemon at the ready to put those things in place. There's probably all sorts of high tales out there of tiny heroes going up against impossible odds with their guilds; confronting some deity-like pokemon, kindly reminding them not to be such jerks; stories which begin then end punching real bastards across the face. Somebody has always risen to the occasion; guilds proliferate these types.
Braviary would much rather live his life as neither part of a jolly band attempting the impossible or the odd pokemon out who's been called to do so. His life, as pathetic as he is right now, is finally his own.
A cool breeze sweeps over him as he hears the crinkle of parchment, the rattling of hedges, and the door bleeps out a dismal squeak. He can still smell the saltwater clinging to his clothes, the stench of The Sea.
"Come on," Prinn tugs him back into reality, leaving pen and parchment behind, "let's go take a look."
Braviary nods.
For the unfathomable amount of coin which went into building this place from the ground up, none of the budget went towards protecting their goods. This shack was a bunch of wooden stakes with two sheets of tin for a room. Through the swaying door they can see a flat stone floor covered in bottles, the glint of metal distillers, and a few barrels stacked up to the right. There's a broken padlock on the grass.
Somebody's going to be booted for this. Their big money maker has been defiled, someone's made an embarrassment out of them and someone is going to have to pay for this. It's gotta be handled quickly or else they'll start harassing the townies, there's no way a guild's gonna let this down.
A po-dunk town doesn't deserve to be the target of a ghost-hunt.
Prinn waddles over to the door, and goes to lift the huge padlock off the ground, requiring both of his fins to even get it upright. The raw hunk of steel reeks of showboating, a challenge to anyone who dares think they can somehow break it. Which someone did by warping the shackle into an unusable mess, twisting it like it was model clay.
"I reckon you should just leave it there, it's part of the scene." Braviary sighs, "You'd think with a lock of that size they'd be better off doing anything but break it. I find it more impressive they just didn't pick the darn thing open."
"Or make the door look closed," Prinn lets it drop with a solid thud, "or give up. I probably would've."
"Some folks are just stubborn, boy. Is there anything off about it?"
"Other than it being a really, really big lock?" Prinn squints at the contraption. "I don't see any claw marks on it, no dents, it's kinda like it just popped out. Maybe the inside of it can tell us what happened. Which if you wanna try to crack this open, uh, I won't stop you.."
"Ghost types would probably have a way around this other than smashing it." Braviary taps it with a talon. "If it were somebody big enough to get in there through force the guildmaster would've probably seen them from the window; it ain't hot either. My money's on it being a fighting type. Call it a hunch, but the fact they're pretty good at bending steel-types in half might be a coincidence. Got anything else to suggest?"
"No, not really."
Prinn turns around, his black eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Oh no, he's about to ask something dumb.
"What makes you think it's a fighting type?"
"Other than what I just told you?" Braviary glances behind him, leans in, and whispers. "Have you ever seen a Lucario punch another Lucario? Like none of those pulled training punches; not any of their schmancy auramancy. I'm talking a closed-fist, full force, honest to goodness 'it's either me or that pokemon' punch."
Prinn looks frozen. He seems close to jumping off this train of thought, but it was too late, he was already at this morbid stop.
"No, why?"
"I haven't either, but a friend did. They just told me lucario bones are partially made of steel and to 'use my imagination.' "
Prinn sucks in a bunch of air, and he stands in the grass. A gulp slips down his small thick neck, then his eyes flutter. It's going to keep him up tonight for sure.
"So far, I reckon whoever did this was a fighting type." Braviary motions to the open door. "If you got nothing else, I suggest we take a peek inside."
Prinn nods, and waddles trepidatiously to the open door. He peaks his rotund head inside, takes a step in, then vanishes. By time Braviary reaches the door the room is lit up by a lantern sitting next to a box of conveniently-placed matches. The right of the room is taken up by stacks of barrels, while to the left there are two metal contraptions he assumed was for crushing and fermenting Enigma berries, and at the back there were a couple crates of empty bottles. Something about the shack's whole operation tells him their secrets lie elsewhere, wherever they grow the berries.
It's probably like the kid said, there's a way to cultivate these Enigma Berries which made them so special which couldn't be replicated outside of this guild. It would explain why they didn't go after the greenhouse instead of the shack. There's no sense robbing a place for their secret berry trees if they didn't know how to grow the blasted things. Screw that up, there's no wine left for anyone to profit off.
"I had at least expected their super-cool, super-secret wine to have at least more gunning for it. There's probably better setups in dungeon camps." Braviary steps inside, "At least they have the excuse of being out in the field, this is nothing special."
"Well, the make of it's not the important part. It's the Enigma Berries which make it special - you really can't grow them anywhere."
"If that's the case then…"
"Yeah, I know!" Prinn chirps. "Grab a shrub or two from the greenhouse, throw 'em over the fence, at least if you had the plant you can maybe figure out what makes them so hard to grow."
"Maybe they're going for short term damage? Hurt the guild's funds immediately, get 'em all riled up."
"I was thinking they just wanted the wine." Prinn interjects, "They don't seem smart, they just stormed through the door with the huge lock instead of picking it open."
Braviary shrugs as he turns his attention to the three and a half-stacks of barrels. There's seven barrels in total, four labelled with "Scholar's Mystery Wine", three are not. He gives each one a poke. The barrels are all full except for the one closest to the door. It's as though they hadn't taken a thing; like the burglars committed some petty vandalism, then calling it a night.
"Do you know who does all the inventory around here?"
"Iunno, I'm not in the guild." Prinn seems fixed on the barrels. "Leon looks like he does ground stuff, so maybe he'd know? I have an idea we can try out, but I'm afraid if I ask him he'll say no."
"Who said we needed permission? What's the worst we can do?"
"Get into their wine and make them send adventurers after us, you know, like the story you said earlier?"
Prinn doesn't say it, he's too weak. But the moment he mentions their sacred wine, Braviary catches on. A big smile stretches over the old man's beak as he turns around, and shouts.
"Leon!"
The smeargle's glowing tail shuffles as he stands up, and peeks over the hedges.
"Y'all don't mind if I take one of these bottles here, fill it up and taste test these things? We have reason to think someone might have messed with them, so if I suddenly hit the floor then grab some pecha berries for me, okay pal?"
His voice roars through the night. Everyone heard it, the Guildmaster, and those poor guildmates trying to get a good night's sleep. Leon, a guild mate like any other, was suddenly tasked with making this hard call. His tail flickers like a strobe as it wags nervously, his head looking to the second story window as though the guildmaster's gaze was upon him. He hesitates for a few more seconds then shouts back
"Alright! But you aren't getting more wine after this!"
A sigh echoes across the garden as Leon slithers back into his bench.
Their guildmaster has to be monitoring the whole situation from above, no doubt he would have heard the two screaming across his courtyard, and one of his own giving this nobody flying-type permission to go pilfering through their precious winery. This was a golden opportunity for anyone who remotely had a vendetta against the guild to cause some trouble. If he had the time, energy, and drive to mess with these stuck-up bookworms, he can use this chance to make this lackey's life miserable.
Good thing Leon had been kind for a guildie, or else the well-worn and far-travelled hammer of brainless adventurer law would come crashing on his puny head for allowing Braviary to mess up their brews. It's not worth being laughably petty.
Braviary scoops up one of the many bottles strewn across the floor, and walks past Prinn to the wall of barrels. He puts the bottle on the nearest tap, pours himself a sip of the wine, then swallows it down. The bitter-sweet taste travels down his throat - the taste of caramel lingers on his tongue like the memories of adventure's past, slowly fading away forgotten. He relives this five more times, taking just the slightest bit more from each savoury barrel until he hits a soury bump along the road. The seventh barrel, the one outside of the stacks, is a different brew altogether. He cannot place its taste but he's certain.
"There!" he points with the glass, "Somebody's swapped the wine, I can taste it."
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" Braviary wipes his beak clean. "The thieves have replaced the guild's good stuff with something cheap, probably bought from the market I reckon. I can't imagine them taking a barrel from someplace farther than that."
"And when they brought it here, they probably swapped the barrels too." Prinn looks at the bottles around his feet which compared to Braviary, are taller than his knees. "Are the barrels all full?"
"Not anymore." he shrugs, placing the bottle near Prinn. "They did all have their taps in them, so it stands to suggest one of the guildies comes in here to take a swig every so often. A few might be half-full."
"So just, siphon the good stuff into the other half-full ones, put your bad stuff in the empty barrel and switcheroo?"
"I see."
He doesn't. He's a vagrant; not a mathematician.
"You wanna move onto the wall now?" Braviary points to the open door from which a yellow glare is in the distance. "See if we can't find where they came in from? If they had to lug a barrel full of wine with them, there's bound to be a flattened flower bed sitting somewhere."
"Sure! Just gimme a minute when we get there…"
They pace back to the old fountain where Leon sat waiting. As Leon looks up at the bird, he seems almost surprised. Maybe Leon held him with the same disdain as those thieves, expecting him to trash the taphouse and to come back with wine-drenched clothes.
Prinn immediately goes to town, scrawling notes down in the light of Leon's Tail Glow. Braviary smirks at the Smeargle.
"You look bright eyed."
"What's the deal?" Leon ignores the comment, crossing his legs. "Find anything useful?"
"I think the boy can give y'all the low-down later, so I'll be brief. We got a reason to think it was a fighting type who broke into here with a barrel of cheap wine, swapped yours with it, and kept the less-conspicuous barrel with him as he ran."
"And how might they have done this?"
"Probably threw it over the fence, that's what we're about to check." He's about to turn to his water-type partner when he raises a quill. "Oh, and another thing: you might wanna check up on who's doing the lock-up there. Somebody's been getting free drinks."
"Noted." he throws it under the rug immediately, "I'll look into it."
It's totally fine for a guild member to head out in the middle of night and grab some drinks, right? It has to be one of the guild's privileges if they're so eager to hand it out to helpful travellers. If the Scholars ever felt like being generous, they could probably quench the thirst of a small town with what they've got in there. Nobody's going to really notice if day after day there's just a tiny bit missing each time a certain Smeargle is out on grounds duty.
He'd do the same, honestly.
Prinn's pencil hits the paper with a satisfying rattle and roll. "Alright!" he looks up, "Let's go!"
Past the fountain and through the hedges they go where they encounter an impassable wall. Prinn's head barely manages to reach past these hedges, a pokemon his or even Braviary's size couldn't dream of getting over this gigantic fence unless they had the dexterity of a Treecko. Which again, only points more towards this being some well-fit fighting. Looking behind them they can only see the tall windows of the manor's library blotted out by black cloth, having been locked up long before they got here.
They're still close enough to Leon to get his light from behind the hedges. It's not like they would have needed it, because whoever did this was not very subtle. Just to the left some more is a conspicuous dent in the grass which lines up perfectly to a windowless corner of the library. The petals from a bush of yellow wildflowers are strewn like a murder scene, having broke the fall of its killer.
"It's that easy, huh?" Braviary sighs, "Must've dropped it from above, too scared to throw it out of fear of overshooting it and hitting around the fountain with a bang."
Prinn on the other hand, didn't look nearly as sure. He's hunching over staring at the dent in the grass, looking back and forth at the manor several times overs. Behind those Piplup's eyes the gears of his head are slowly grinding to some conclusion. Eventually he lifts a flipper to draw an imaginary line from the second story floor to here, noting the angle, jotting a few mental notes. Another moment passes when suddenly his face glows up like a firework.
"Okay, so…" he clasps his flippers together, he's ecstatic to tell Braviary this, "Leon said they close up the Library, then the rest of the guild an hour after, right?"
"I'm listening."
"We never asked what they did for the hour after they closed the library, Leon just said they locked things up. Their Guildmaster upstairs has a good view of everything back there except for this side and the side opposite. He apparently watches everyone do lock-up from up there, but this place is big right, it's gotta be a guild wide effort? Maybe he only ever looks out of his window when they're done?"
"Assuming that's what happened, how come nobody saw the barrel sitting here?"
Prinn levels his hand to the top of the hedge. It's just up to his eyes. Given their position between two walls, the library having its blinds shut, the lack of any decent sightlines - a barrel could possibly go unnoticed.
"A-and also!" Prinn stumbles, "they close up the stores first, and then the library. They basically check this side twice! So it had to have happened during that hour, probably right at the end of it before the guildmaster does his thing."
"So what y'all saying is that he might be at fault?"
"No, no. Not really." Prinn shakes his head. "We'll know later. It's just whoever did this has a good idea of the guild's schedule and the layout of this place. This couldn't have been, y'know, outta the blue."
"Guess I'm not the only person who can't stand guilds around here..." Braviary takes a sigh of relief, the job is done. He peers just over the hedge to see Leon looking back at him.
"You catch that, Leon?"
"I did." Leon replies. "Come get your notes, and we'll head inside. He's going to want to talk about this."
Leon leads them inside through the foyer, ignoring the dinner room straight ahead of them, and up a flight of two parallel stairs which lead directly to the second story office. A few bits of moonlight peek in from the stained-glass window above the door behind them, casting the image of a winged dragon-type on the granite floor - a salamence by the looks of it. However they weren't here to gawk at some trick of architecture, they were here for their impromptu interview.
The office door was as tall as the entrance with the sole addition of a much, much smaller door fashioned into it. After two knocks it creaks open, allowing the quivering candlelight within to escape.
Inside are two office chairs rolled up to a large desk stacked with candles and books. Wax drips off a brass candelabra onto the green rog. Behind the desk they can see another window and the overwhelming number of old books and bobbles forming a staircase to its circular sill. In that sill is a tiny bed. To their left and right they can see shelves stocked full of trophies and novels, one of which catches the old bird's eye.
It's on this shelf he sees a collection of crystal spheres on display - orbs as they are colloquially known, supposedly naturally occurring objects which allow particularly daring guildies to perform feats thought to be deemed magical. Theologists argue they're scattered across the worlds by patron deities; more educated folks say their magical properties could be the result of evolutionary stones in the earth being condensed into homogenized, orb-like forms. He's of the third school of thought who just thinks these orbs are useful; tools any adventurer worth their salt should absolutely have on hand.
Braviary wants to think the Guildmaster's just some avid collector, an adventurer aficionado trying to look the part. Or he can come to face reality: these pokemon might actually know what they're doing.
There's a runt hidden in the books, one foot tall creature. Two tiny red eyes peer from behind a scroll, his black matted fur the color of ink. Yes, their guildmaster's a rattata. He motions for them to take a seat.
Braviary sits down immediately, while Prinn flops himself down onto the tall chair. Leon takes a step forward.
"I found these two by the door when you sent me out. I asked them if they would like to help in exchange for not sleeping out in the cold, they said yes, so here we are." Leon nods towards Prinn "I think you know Prinn already, but this here is…"
Leon turns to Braviary, the Guildmaster too. Suddenly all eyes are upon him as they wait for the flying-type to speak its name. Prinn is looking at him with beady eyes, he wants to know his secret.
This Braviary's a weirdo on the beach. The missing wing points to years of experience, or some wretched accident from time long ago. His head feathers are short, his eyes are upholstered by dozens of bags which he's accrued over sleepless nights and stressful years. His attire is unlike anyone around. Most mysterious of all is the badge holding his poncho together, it's brass, pointy - an outlier. Even this guild's little initiation rite with the cups of enigma wine couldn't deduce him
Who was this Braviary? Prinn seems determined to find out.
The seconds tick by like minutes. Braviary puts his wing up to adjust his hat in a bid to buy him precious time. A single bead of sweat drips from Braviary's brow.
He doesn't know his name.
"Braviary's fine, y'all don't take it personally."
Both Prinn and Leon look away while the Guildmaster's still staring at him. His eyes are on Braviary's badge.
The Guildmaster's voice is oddly quiet, almost like a whisper, but as worn as a pokemon who's drunk all their life. His voice would sound absurd if he wasn't talking from a throne of bobbles.
"Braviary it is. Now would you two care to explain why you've come at this ghastly hour?"
"I wanted to head this way anyway to see how my application is going, but..." Prinn clears his throat, "I found something just this morning, something I knew you just had to see."
Prinn spent the whole day with this stranger rehearsing this very moment. Right on queue Braviary leans forward then points towards his badge. Its brass centerpiece glistens like a rare jewel.
"Yeah, the kid over here seemed really surprised to see one of these things when he found me. I reckon these things aren't too common around here." he leans back. "Wherever 'here' is."
"You're in Scoria Town,'' Guildmaster answers, "population nearing three hundred - most are seasonal visitors, so it may be less. It's the only town this side of the Obsidian Peninsula, which in of itself takes up a third of our small continent known as the Dusk Continent. Closest settlement to us is Calico, a fair way to the east."
Braviary is given a moment.
"Does that answer your question?"
Good enough, Braviary nods.
"Good. Prinplup here is correct. It should be obvious our guild lacks badges of their own, so we are putting much of our resources into looking at how to manufacture our very own. However, each guild has their own ways of doing so, a guild secret unique to each guildmaster."
"Do you plan on copying some other guild's hard work?" He places his wing over his chest, hiding the badge in his worn feathers. "If y'all are gonna mess with one guild's work in the slightest, they really ain't gonna like it."
"No, not at all." Guildmaster's whiskers twitch. "You mustn't even give it to me. We can begin by having you tell us what yours in particular does, what it's made of, and work our way outwards."
Then suddenly, Braviary laughs.
"What if I told you I had no Idea how it works? How do you reckon it'd feel?"
The silence is palpable, hitting the ground like a brick. Sure a pokemon can excuse not knowing why they woke up on a beach, but this? There were certain strange occurrences which followed adventurers everywhere they went, bouts of amnesia can certainly be excused.
This sudden, sinking sensation is pulling at Prinn. He looks pale, watching as his shot at getting an honest to good guild job, this whole golden opportunity - wasted by an old coot's lack of memory. This is bad, so bad.
"You're-"
Suddenly Prinn rises out of his chair, ending the Guildmaster's sentence with the thwak of his webbed feet hitting the floor. He leans in front of Braviary as though taking a shot for him, then stammers out.
"W-what he's saying is he's happy to do some field testing to work out its capabilities!" Prinn scrambles to collect himself. "We're just really tired, him especially. It's been a long day for both of us. If it's possible we can stay the night, we'd really appreciate it. And we can always talk in the morning!"
He doesn't need to turn to know Braviary is glaring straight at him, like he's about to punt him across the room as though his blue head were one of those orbs. He didn't spend the whole day rambling about guilds for him to be wrapped into working for one. Then the unexpected happens: Braviary keeps his mouth shut. Prinn glances behind his shoulder to see Braviary's face contort into a smile, a painful, awful smile.
The Guildmaster stares among his towers of knowledge, retrieving a Rattata-sized note which fills his intense red eyes with surprise. "Hmm..." he mumbles, nudging the paper to Leon who begins to read it.
"There's always the afternoon. I don't wake up until after lunch." Guildmaster corrects, "I presume Leon was watching you investigate, you can elucidate me with answers then. Show them to their room Leon, then report back."
"Um, before we're dismissed…" Leon lifts a finger up, "The Dorm here says there's only one bed, I know it's for the larger pokemon, but.."
"Oh, Prinn doesn't mind." Braviary says, "He can sleep on the floor. Spare the boy a sheet if you've got one."
With a motion of the Guildmaster's hand Leon opens the door, and the two awkwardly follow him out, catching one last glimpse of the ornate collection before the office closes behind them, followed shortly by the clunk of a deadbolt. Leon leads them side by side like disgruntled siblings, down the steps then down a hallway where they are freed from earshot. Leon takes a well-earned sigh, followed by Braviary, then Prinn.
After adjusting the green thing on his furry "hat", Leon is the one to break the ice.
"You gave him the runaround, didn't you?" he says to Braviary.
"I wish." the bird answers.
"You too kid, nice one."
A complement lost to the tension in the air. They shouldn't be talking. This is a conversation for when they've had time to process what just happened.
They were shown a room at the end of the east corridor. The door is flimsy, worn down by guildmates countlessly slamming it shut at the end of every tiresome day. There's a small rack attached to the other side of the door, another familiar window feeding moonlight directly onto the pillow. It's small, with enough space to accommodate a sleeping bag after its rotted desk had been removed last week, but it is a roof - a luxury. With what little strength remains, Braviary tosses the quilt, the bedsheets, everything except for the pillow for water-type to nest in and plants himself beak-first into the cushion.
There are no words, only the still lingering stench of saltwater. It's time for bed.