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KELJARN

A Little Nudge

City of Riften

He'd never promised anyone – not even himself – that he'd take the bitch to the guard for a fair trial. Fair trials were nice, but in the end, one's conscience was the ultimate judicator, and he wasn't some judge who had to hear both parties and then decide. He was there, he knew what had happened, what this woman had done. No judge needed, he'd put her on trial himself. And while the Dunmer had been right, he had to think about his own soul, it didn't make what she'd done disappear. The girl was dead. Simple as that.

If he could find her, at least.

Sitting on a bench in the middle of the market, watching the vendors take their stands apart, Keljarn considered his options. He only knew her first name, and his harebrained scryer plan had been thwarted since all her blood was off him now. He knew what she looked like, and that she didn't speak. And that she was missing a finger.

Performing that Black Sacrament silliness was out of the question too. This time, the Brotherhood wouldn't just send one desperate housewife to tell him off. They'd just murder him in his sleep.

But lo and behold, there, in the light of the setting sun, walked a young, dim-witted Redguard girl. Even though he'd stuck her some septims to compensate her for the terror he'd put her through, the girl still couldn't resist walking past a market vendor on the way home and let he fingers slide in her pockets.

"Hey, you, stop," Keljarn called to her. That had been a stupid move. The girl whipped her head around, recognized him, and her eyes going wide, she immediately shot off into a sprint. "I just want to ask you some questions!" Keljarn shouted after her, but predictably, that didn't work.

Grunting in annoyance, Keljarn also pushed off, running after her as fast as he could and ignoring the throbbing in his still-painful nose as his heart picked up speed. She went over one of the wooden bridges, off the market, and into the alleys where she doubtless felt at home.

Her sprint took her to the ramshackle wooden houses, between which she disappeared. Keljarn rounded the corner, his hand hooked around the wood of the house to keep the curve as tight as possible, and saw the girl scrambling back to her feet as a sandy-haired guard without helmet held his head, which was already bandaged.

Keljarn ran after her, leaping over the dazed guard, and followed her to the end of the alley, his boots slapping on the cobblestones. The girl rounded another corner and so did he, and as he closed in on her, her foot slipped on a greasy puddle of kitchen waste, and her legs went out from under her, dropping her hard on the side of her pelvis. Before she could pick herself up, Keljarn had reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders of her jerking, pulling her up.

"Easy," he panted. "I just want to ask you something. It's important."

The girl looked away, struggling in his grip without much enthusiasm. "Leave me alone."

"Tell me what I want to know and I will."

A short silence as she kept looking away, her jaw set. Then, "What?"

"The assassin you were escorting. I need to know everything about her."

A short and angry "Why?"

"It doesn't matter. Look, I know I scared you back there, but believe me, I'm the good guy here."

"Could have fooled me."

"I know. Look," he sighed. "I'm going to let you go. Just don't run, alright? I just want to talk."

The girl's jaw worked, but she didn't say a word.

"I'll take that as agreement."

For a moment, he was worried the girl would just scoot off again, but she remained where she was, massaging the side of her hip, her face in a grimace.

"Looked like a painful fall," Keljarn said, in an attempt to put her at ease somewhat.

"At least it's not a knife to my throat."

That was deserved.

"I'm sorry about that, alright? I was desperate. Still am."

"If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

He nodded. "Promised. Can we talk somewhere else though? These smelly alleys aren't really a good place for conversation."

"They're my home," she said, her dark brown eyes flashing. "But yes, let's talk somewhere public so you don't slit my throat." They began walking, and the girl asked bluntly, "So what do you want to know?"

"Anything you can tell me," Keljarn said gently, ignoring the girl's unfriendly tone. She had a right to it. "I just… need your help."

"All I know is," the girl grunted, "she's from the Orphanage originally. So am I."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Go shit, I don't need your sympathy." Ouch. "She knew my sister well, but she got sold off and now she's dead. So too bad, she can't tell you anything."

She was testing his patience, but he remained silent.

With a sigh, she continued. "You know she can't speak. Couldn't when she arrived. Something when she was young, I don't know. Don't care either. All I know is, her father's buried here somewhere." She shrugged. "Maybe her name's in a tombstone somewhere. Give you her last name too."

"Great, thanks." It was rather worthless, but she was giving him something. They'd arrived back at the market, the sun low behind the buildings.

"She was always a little runt," the girl went on. "Nobody liked her much. That's all I can tell you."

He'd hoped for more, but contained his disappointment and said, "Thanks, you've been very helpful."

With an angry glare, the girl stood there, holding out her hand.

Of course. He opened his purse and dropped the last of his septims in. He'd just hunt for food on the way back. Not like it'd be any trouble for him to do a quick shift in the night and beat down a deer.

The girl walked off, leaving him to look around the city of Riften from his spot in the square. He might as well go take a look at the cemetery. Maybe he'd find something. He took the last strip of dried meat out of his pack and wandered to the graveyard, chewing the salty treat.

There were quite a few headstones, more than he could possibly scan, but with some logical thinking, he could already eliminate a lot of them. The entire newer section of the cemetery was already out, since the grave must be older than ten years, and the entire west and north wings had headstones which looked newer, and their dates confirmed it. Next, he could eliminate any gravestones that had been well-maintained or which still had flowers or plants set close to them. Siari (it was somehow disgusting to think of her by name) had been an orphan, so no family, no one to tend the grave. So that left the moss-covered headstones and the weed-overgrown graves.

There was a bunch of those near the east side of the graveyard, and a few more behind the mausoleum that served as a secret entrance for the Guild (how corny), but none of those had the information he sought. If any would, because not every grave listed the name of the dead person's family members. Still, it was a small chance.

He searched on, hoping to find something before the light went.

There it was. A cheap, moss-covered stone that said,

RELVIG MAERSL, FALLEN IN DEFENCE OF THE HOMELAND

And below, in smaller letters,

husband, beloved by Hordis and father, beloved by Siari.

Siari Maersl. Daughter of Relvig and Hordis. Now both dead. He wondered what her mother and father would think of her daughter and her occupation. He couldn't imagine them being proud. He also couldn't imagine that cowardly, dirty murderer as the adorable, innocent, giggling, babbling baby she had once been, her parents cradling her and smiling at her with the unconditional love only a parent could, supposedly, feel.

There was no grave for Hordis Maersl, or indeed, any other Hordis, except one who would have been over a hundred by now. Maybe looking up their names in the city register might work. Give him an idea of where she might go next. It was another slim chance, but at the very least, it'd give him some more background on the girl he was chasing.

As he walked to the Jarl's longhouse, just next to the cemetery, he saw the Dunmer thief who'd first foiled his revenge and then shamed him by giving him wise advice, approaching the stairs too, as a woman in heavy bone armour walked down. The Dunmer said something, and with blinding speed, the blonde woman had her sword at his throat.

He recognized her now, this was the Dragonborn again. Damn, woman, why did you keep showing up? He ducked behind a juniper bush and observed them. The chance that the Nord woman recognized him as that unwanted guest on her construction site a while ago was extremely slim, but with this woman, he didn't want to take the chance. He hoped the blonde wouldn't lop the Dunmer's head off, but it was better to not get involved. After a brief exchange, the woman lowered her weapon and the tension seemed to grow a little lighter. Another few words traded, and they both walked off. The woman didn't look very happy, but Keljarn doubted if she ever was.

When they were gone, Keljarn made his way to the steps, climbed them, and pushed open the door to the longhouse.

"The Jarl is occupied at the moment," a young servant told him. "May I help you?"

"Uh, perhaps?" Keljarn said to the lad. "I'd like to access the city's public records, if I may?"

"Certainly." The boy led him to a wing of the longhouse that contained all the city records. It wasn't a grand collection, but Keljarn was confident it would at least have a bit of information about that murdering scum and her parents.

He pulled open a drawer (the papers were suspended in a nifty hanging-file system he'd never seen before, and he wondered why other archives didn't use it) and flipped to the letter 'm', taking out the big sheaf labelled 'ma-me'.

"Maersl, Maersl…" he muttered to himself, stopping when he realized it, not wanting to pronounce that filthy name out loud. There had been quite a few Maersls in Riften, but most of them were quite dead.

Maersl, Relvig. He already knew the father had died in battle in some nondescript war, 'in defence of the homeland', which was usually a phrase used to cover any old romp, from a petty territory dispute to a cataclysmic war. The sheet had nothing more, but it did confirm once more that this was indeed the killer's father, as the last line simply said, "children: Siari (f)".

Hordis Maersl's sheet was a few pages back, and didn't reveal much useful information either. Apparently she'd been a member of the Riften Guard and had died in a house fire. No surprise, buildings burned down all the time around here. Here, too, was the last line, "children: Siari (f)".

He flipped forward again, but Siari Maersl's entry only listed her father's and mother's names, and a single line saying, "orphaned at age six, consigned to Riften Orphanage". Nothing he didn't know already. Damn it, this was a dead end.

He closed the drawer a bit harder than drawers were meant to be closed, prompting a disapproving mouth-curl from the servant who was keeping an eye on him from across the room, and stood thinking, leaning on the file cabinet, his head lowered. His hair tickled in his face and he pushed himself off the desk. "Thanks for the help, kid," he muttered at the servant, then left the archives. Why was he even here? He should have known he wouldn't find anything? And yet, somehow, his gut had told him to come here, as if he was being steered here by some unknown force. Perhaps this search was a hunt of its own kind, and he knew whose territories hunts were, and who helped the hunters. But then what? Why was he here if not for the archives?

"One more thing, my Jarl."

A red-headed woman wearing the tiara of the Jarl strode past him, with her aide in tow, a mousy man holding a paper.

"Yes, what is it?" the red-headed Jarl asked impatiently, waiting by the door.

The mousy man followed her, his head low. "You are invited as one of the guests of honour to the wedding of Vittoria Vici and Aesgir Snow-shod, in Solitude, in two days. They would be overjoyed with your presence."

The Jarl snorted. "I don't think so. I don't like either of them and I have enough to do here."

And as she pushed the door open and walked out, Keljarn heard her say to her advisor, "Besides, a little bird told me the wedding won't be all that safe. Any wedding that might get a visit from the Brotherhood is a good place to stay away from."