Pulling Back the Curtain

by **Sal Mander** on December 1st, 2014, 12:37 am

Day 71, Fall of 514 A.V.

Sal waited patiently, sitting upon a rock who's face had eroded accommodatingly over thousands of years to serve as a suitable seat. The investigator had arrived early on this occasion, or perhaps it was Brandon who was running late. Such was Sal's excitement that he could not say for certain which one was the case. What he could say though, after the two men had met on several occasions over the season, was that he had finally found something.

And something was better than nothing.

Day 3

Seven days later he had originally said, though Sal's confidence in his own abilities had been misplaced. So it was that he would have little to report to Djas come the 7th, or Brandon as the kelvic was truly named. The bat's true name was as unknown to Sal as the identity of Solomon Kriegsfelt.

Solomon Kriegsfelt.

Late into the night hours Sal delved into the long, regimented lines of shelves that sat nestled underground at the Cosmos Center, the orange glow of flickering lamps casting ominous shadows, that seemed fitting for the dusty mysterious catacombs. What better venue to host an investigation, where answers and secrets could hide in dark corners and out of sight? But the search for answers was what Sal relished more than anything, possessing an appetite that was ravenous enough not to give in so easily.

In truth, he had expected to throw the name Solomon Kriegsfelt into the lake of papers, records and documents, then pull from it a mighty catch that weighed as much as it did in answers as it did in self-satisfaction. Brandon had originally quoted the end of the season as the time for answers, but Sal had been determined to cut that deadline considerably. However, he had found no mention or hint of a one Solomon Kriegsfelt. If the man did exist in Lhavit, there was no record or account of him, at least not officially.

To be fair, the bat had given Sal very little to go on. Just the name in fact, as if that mere morsel of information would have been the key to unlock so much more. But if it were a key, the door to which it opened was off in another city as far as Sal was concerned. There were no merchant licenses in his name, nor any accommodations or residential properties. He had even sifted through the records of hospitals and doctors, perhaps hoping Kriegsfelt had sought some medical attention at some time. The man was apparently exemplary at keeping fit and healthy, since that search came up blank too. Finally, Sal had even tried a handful of taverns, perusing the innkeeper's ledgers for any mention of the name he sought. But that endeavor had proved fruitless early on, when he had realized that most inns were far from vigilant when it came to keeping accurate lists. He suspected most names were fraudulent anyway, since there was no legal obligation to list a real name at a tavern, nor any means to enforce such a law if there was.

So then, at the first roll of the dice, Sal had scored the lowest possible toss, leaving him with little to report to Brandon when next they met. That meeting on the 7th had been approached with some apprehension by Sal, since he had not wanted to appear incompetent in front of his friend. But Brandon had been gracious in acceptance of Sal's defeat, acknowledging that he suspected Kriegsfelt's omission from the records all along. "Perhaps if I had a little more to go on," Sal had pleaded, a request that had indeed garnered a little more in the way of information from Brandon.

Kriegsfelt ran a business at the Azure Market, selling trinkets and other valuable goods, the origin of some which could well be contested as legally gained or not. In any case, the man had sounded a little too close to home to Burton Tally, leaving Sal with the impression that Lhavitian merchants were best avoided altogether for all the trouble they caused. Then there was the reminder of how Brandon's own attempts to tail the man had met with failure. Apparently Kriegsfelt had in his employ two rather gifted akalaks when it came to detecting would be spies. Akalaks certainly cut an imposing shadow too, and Sal was no stranger to their kind. But they were as much imposing as they were conspicuous. Meaning that, if a man wanted to find another man who was trialed by two giant akalaks, he need not look for the man at all.

by **Sal Mander** on January 18th, 2015, 11:52 pm

Day 12

The Azure marketplace was easy to lose oneself in, with the steady throng of traffic that filtered through, slowing here to peruse some bargain that a carpet merchant had broadcast across the open square, while speeding up past the leather bag maker who, after a dismal year thus far, was still demanding way over the asking price for his wares. Much the same transpired around the market, with voices booming and yelling, offers and deals being hurled out upon the sea of potential consumers, whose own pockets carried the true goal for the merchants.

There were pies, fish, meats and vegetables for sale, while over here it was fine woven dresses and scarves in preparation for the forthcoming colder segment of Fall. There it was ornamental silver daggers, adorned with valuable looking gems that echoed the glint of the sunshine that cascaded off the skyglass roofs of nearby shops. Further down, a scrawny looking street urchin was trying his luck with a rather lackluster looking boot polishing kit, while opposite him a rotund and jolly fellow was making a killing with a consignment of rarities he had recently come into possession of by means of a trade ship from Wind Reach.

But ultimately, it was all a game. The goods, services, stuff...whatever you wanted to call it; it was all designed to prize those valued coins from the public's pockets. Merchants promised to feed the populace, to cloth them, clean them, provide distractions and entertainment and so on. Just so long as you were willing to pay for it. It was a train of thought that Sal had ran with for more time than he could remember right now, suddenly coming to as though he had been startled out of a temporary stupor. Far be it for him to break down and analyze the concept of trading and mercantilism, for in fact he was here with just one merchant in mind.

Brandon had been accommodating when last the two had met, offering up the prized piece of information Sal had needed to advance his investigation. Solomon Kriegsfelt ran a trinket stall here at the market, a stall that sold other miscellaneous items from time to time. By the sounds of it, Kriegsfelt had no requirement to run the stall himself, being a man of apparent wealth and power within the city. So then, it was fair to surmise that he did so merely out of a want of something to occupy his hours not plotting and keeping his identity and motives secret. Maybe it was merely habit. After all, did even the richest of men stop desiring the chance to add to his wealth? Sal wondered, would he himself be compelled to quit investigations, had he one day solved the greatest investigation of all time? There was a certain attraction to 'going out on a high', but Sal suspected that a man could grow tired if he quit before his time.

Further pondering on such notions was cut short, as Sal picked out his intended targets. Seeking out Kriegsfelt himself was a clumsy suggestion, since it would have meant moving in closer and risk detection. Instead, with two large akalaks to point the way, he had only needed to wait for them to show up to possibly narrow down his field of vision. Indeed, he watched now from a safe distance, observing their movements and keeping in view those they talked to. It had not taken long before one stall in particular seemed to be the source of their attention, even stopping to chat with the merchant there between intervals of walking a subtle perimeter around the area.

So we have a lead, Sal thought to himself with a hint of satisfaction. It had been the case that Solomon kept his own name out of Lhavit's books, but that market stall he was peddling his wares at had to be registered to someone.

by **Sal Mander** on January 19th, 2015, 12:30 am

Day 18

For the following six days, as work and time permitted, Sal had watched Kriegsfelt at his merchant stall in the market. It might have been considered as obsessive behavior by some, but the investigator would have preferred to have labeled it dedication. He was making headway, having singled out the primary target of his investigation and, more importantly for now, had established the business for which the target was working at. He had remained patient, watching from a safe distance where those two menacing akalaks would not detect him, waiting for an opportune moment to take his investigation to the next stage.

It had been a middle-aged man, dressed in a decent looking scarlet red tunic, with byzantium purple pants that sported a single white line of lace down either outer side. The red/purple combo invoked the image of some fanciful fruit, leaving those of lesser taste in such fine outfits unsure as to whether the man was a wealthy buffoon, or just the latter without the accompanying wealth. In either case, he had been rich enough to shop at Kriegsfelt's stall, having made purchase of some small object that he now tucked into his tunic pocket. With the exchange of coin for goods complete, the fruity looking man had stopped by one or two other stalls for a browse, before finally settling on the idea of seeking out refreshment.

Inside the inn of choice was as much as any other in Lhavit, with a wide range of merchants taking up lunch, while other denizens set to quenching their thirst or sating their hunger. A pair of wizard looking men with long grey beards sat huddled in the corner, peering accusingly over glasses of blood red wine, while across from them came raucous laughter as a svefra sailor was retelling a story to an approving gang of shipmates. The man who had bought the ring positioned himself at a vacant table, having bought for himself a small silver cup of some unknown content. "Room for one more?" Sal asked politely, offering his best effort at a harmless yet friendly smile.

Two men sharing a drink was often the ideal circumstance for the sharing of information. It had not taken much at all to glean the answers that Sal sought. The ring, as it turned out to be, was a band of solid white gold, emblazoned with a line of perfectly cut sapphires of the deepest blue Sal had ever seen. The ring was to be offered in return for the promise of marriage, from the man's intended, the presentation of said ring to occur that evening if all went to plan. More importantly, when Sal had asked where one could find such a prized possession, the man enthusiastically announced the name of Kriegsfelt's stall.

And there it was.

Back at the Cosmos that evening, Sal had once more traversed the catalogs of merchants who currently retained licenses for trade within the city. It had only taken a few hours, before he settled upon a Mr. Mortimer Crow, proprietor to the market stall named Crow Jewelers and Gems, owned and operated by Crow Holdings Company. Hang on. I've seen that before, Sal thought, the name of Crow Holdings Company having popped up before during his current search. So it was that he uncovered a handful more businesses, each selling vastly different wares and under different names, yet all registered under the same overall owner and company.

Which led Sal to two possible conclusions. Either Kriegsfelt was working for this Mortimer Crow, or the name was a fake. That being said, it was a name none the less, and if it was being used to register businesses under, it would have had to have been registered in the Lhavit census of residents. In other words, the name had to lead somewhere. Further searching through the records had proved fruitful, as the net closed on Mortimer Crow. Indeed he was listed as resident to Lhavit, having four properties within the city under his name. Quite the businessman, Sal thought, wondering how a merchant had managed to acquire such an array of shops and properties while apparently using an alias.

by **Sal Mander** on January 19th, 2015, 2:46 am

Day 31

It would have been wrong for Sal to make assumptions regarding Solomon Kriegsfelt, since he had little information on which to base any such guesses. But in the absence of cold hard facts, he did like to think that a man who instilled fear in the likes of Brandon Blackwing, not to mention found the necessity to trade under an alias, would have been a lot more remarkable than he proved to be. The truth, Solomon Kriegsfelt was a man of habit. He arrived to his trinket stand at precisely the same time, each and every day, while making the same exact departure once his trading was done. He ate lunch at the same tavern, took it at the same time, and on the handful of occasions that Sal dared to venture inside the tavern to further his observations, the man had been tucking in to the same order of chicken and potatoes. A man of habit indeed.

So it came as little surprise that Kriegsfelt did not tolerate tardiness in others. In particular, an older man of silver hair and robust looking leather tunic, who wore an exasperated look upon his face as if knowing ahead of time he was to be chastised by his apparent employer. Sal believed the man to be an employee simply from the way that Kriegsfelt spoke to him. Though he was too far to actually hear their conversations, it was clear from body language and posture that one was literally chewing the other out. The fact that this occurrence had happened on more than one occasion suggested the older man was not a customer.

Just as Sal had followed and investigated the man who had bought the ring, now it was time to set the old man in his sights. What Sal would soon discover was most interesting indeed. Firstly, he followed at a distance for a couple of days, noting that the silver haired man always took the same route, stopping by and visiting the same establishments in the same order. He carried with him a heavy looking tome, as well as a leather shoulder pack that carried writing equipment. Sal knew this from having peered in the window of one such establishment, watching the man jot down in the book while the shopkeeper was counting out a bag of kina.

It had not taken long for Sal to piece things together. The locales visited by the old man were all owned by Mortimer Crow. So then, judging from the collection of coins as well as entering information into what Sal believed to be a ledger, this man was then perhaps an accountant or book keeper of some kind. But the truth turned out to be far more startling.

by **Sal Mander** on January 19th, 2015, 4:03 am

Day 38, Fall of 514 A.V.

Having watched the old man for several days, Sal was able to choose a time and place to make his initial approach, confident that neither Kriegsfelt nor his two lackeys would be in the vicinity. Indeed, it seemed those three never ventured from the Azure Market during the day time hours. As for when darkness descended, well that was another matter. Since Brandon himself had had no success in following them, Sal chose not to jeopardize the investigation by trying himself. He had no illusions of being proficient at sneaking, and thus Kriegsfelt's nighttime activities would have to remain secret for the time being.

But in any case, he had other leads to follow for now. It did occur to Sal that approaching the old man at all would carry with it the same, or at least similar risks, to if he had approached Kriegsfelt himself. After all, what if the man had chosen to report the incident, proving his loyalty to his master and perhaps earning some favor in the process? It was really a judgement call on Sal's part. A calculated risk, although the only thing he was factoring into the equation was that the old man seemed discontent. Each time upon leaving the market stall, having been chastised by Kriegsfelt, the old man could be seen to mutter some inaudible complaints under his breath. If Kriegsfelt saw this himself, he never seemed to make it known.

So it was that Sal made his approach, waiting outside a furniture shop of all places where the man had recently entered. At the front of the store, it took the guise of many of Lhavit's shops, large window panes flanking the door in the middle, usually with a bell overhead to signal the arrival of would be customers. The windows themselves tended to be quite large, affording passersby the chance to glance at some of the wares, displayed like models in the front window in order to entice people in. Sal watched from across the street, having clear line of sight in watching the old man carry out his duties. As with the other shops and businesses, he scribbled into that mighty ledger, while a shopkeeper would count out coins, before the old man would store them and his writing equipment into that leather satchel he carried.

Sal noted that by the time the man finished his rounds, he carried quite a sizable fortune in that satchel, valuable information in the wrong hands. Not that Sal was looking to rob the man of course. But he found it strange that the old man did not seem to be perturbed at having to carry such a fortune around. He did not seem to pay attention to anyone in the street, including those who had the guise of one less than reputable. It was as if he was impervious to the threats of Lhavit's less than friendly denizens.

Casting the thought aside, Sal pushed off from the wall he had been leaning against, as the old man emerged from the doorway of the store. He followed him along the street for a few strides, before the two turned down a much more quiet alleyway. Sal stretched his legs, taking larger steps to close the gap, until the two men were side by side. Even then, it was as if the man was oblivious to the presence that flanked him. "Excuse me, sir? Sal asked.
_____"Yes, yes. What is it?" the man replied grumpily, as if answering Sal had been a great inconvenience. None the less, he continued walking without having even looked up to see who had made this interruption. Sal kept pace, a little unsure what to say next. In his mind, he was to approach the man and engage him in conversation. But this fellow seemed hell bent on anything but. Sal took a few extra long strides ahead of the man, before turning and stopping before him.

Now the old man looked up, eying Sal with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Despite the investigator standing a foot taller, not to mention being at least forty years his junior, the old man displayed not a hint of concern. Instead, the momentary curiosity gave way to full on annoyance. "Get out of my way. I'm late enough as it is."
_____"Late for what? For Solomon Kriegsfelt?" It was a daring question, deployed without even a pinch of subtlety. Furthermore, it seemed to spark a hint of concern in the man that was strangely absent only moments before. His look became more focused, darting about the alleyway as if there might be more men lurking there, intent on causing him further delay in his journey. Suspecting that the man had become alarmed, Sal raised his palms in a surrendering gesture, as he took a step forward. He was about to inform the man of his good intentions, when suddenly all the air that had resided in his lungs came hurtling out.

The blow had been swift and deadly, a firm punch right to the stomach that had Sal doubled over and spluttering for air. Another blow came from above, striking the investigator hard across the shoulder, with enough force that it sent him crashing to the ground like a pile of rags. He lay there, still gasping while a streak of pain racked through his right shoulder and back, resonating there as though the old man had struck him with a lasting magic of some kind. Rolling over onto his back in anticipation of further attack, Sal raised his hands defeated, in a manner that portrayed to the old man that he surrendered.

"Who are you? If you're hear to rob me, you should run now, while you can still use your legs." The threat was genuine, the old man standing there with his book clutched in both hands. It was then that Sal realized what he had been struck with. The pen is mightier than the sword. But a book...
_____"Listen....cough.....listen you crazy old man. Quit beating me for one moment will you?" The insult may have invited further book attacks, but the old man seemed to take pity on Sal in that moment, reluctantly offering a hand and helping the investigator to his feet.

After a few moments, with Sal dusting himself off and catching his breath, he turned to the man once more, his face red and his shoulder still aching. The old man seemed more amused now than anything, content that Sal posed no further threat. "Forgive me. You can't be too careful these days."

by **Sal Mander** on January 19th, 2015, 4:40 am

The start of the conversation with the old man had gone surprisingly well, with both participants proving to be rather candid. In being so, the old man had revealed the startling revelation that he was in fact Mortimer Crow, owner and proprietor of Crow Holdings Company. But in recent times he had found himself taking up position of accountant and book keeper, while the running of the business had fallen to a 'business partner'. He was unwilling to divulge the name, stating that it was in fact a silent partner who wished to remain anonymous in all matters. It did not take a genius to figure out who that was.

When pressed on the matter of Solomon Kriegsfelt however, Mortimer Crow grew cautious again, as though the very mention of the name was a signal of ill tidings on the horizon. He seemed evidently put out by the name, but offered no admittance that he knew it. "I saw you talking to him in the Azure Market. Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?" The accusation was piercing, Crow searching for the right response, before realizing Sal had him cornered. He seemed to sag visibly, letting out a sigh as though a court of law had just condemned him to the hangman's noose.
_____"Son, you're meddling with things you don't understand. I've already said too much." With that, he pushed past Sal and began to make his way down the alleyway, a rather hurried pace to his step.
_____"But you've hardly said anything at all," Sal protested after him, to no avail.

It seemed pointless to pursue Mortimer Crow further. The man was spooked by the very mention of Solomon Kriegsfelt, and it was likely he would never speak a word about or against him so long as the latter was in the picture. Still, Sal had come a long way when all was said and done. He at least had something of worth to offer Brandon when next they met. At least, he hoped he did.

Day 71

And so there Sal sat on his rock, as still as if he had been carved from it himself. In his mind he was going over what he knew, in preparation for telling Brandon. But he remained unsatisfied in his findings. It occurred to him that he had barely scratched the surface. All he had really found out was that the man ran a business as a silent partner. It was not illegal in any way, so it would not have drawn the attentions of the Cosmos Center or the Shinya.

Brandon had asked for much more than that though. He wanted to know who Solomon Kriegsfelt was. Who were his connections, if any? Did he have assassins in his employ? Was he someway involved in the government? Where did he even live? Well, actually Sal did have an incline about that, since there were three homes registered to Mortimer Crow. Chances were that Kriegsfelt called one of those home.

Well, here he comes, Sal said to himself, looking up to see the kelvic approaching.

{Continues in another thread).