"Find out anything?" Enturi asks. Lynae shakes her head. 

"No," she says. "Nana Milya was too shaken. She didn't see or hear anything, and probably wouldn't tell me if she had."

I offer the little I've learned, for what it's worth. "At least three of Norien's regulars were here last night. Two humans, young patricians from outside. And an old elf, love-smitten apparently, name of Calmorien."

"Calmorien?"

"Yeah. Merchant. Runs a warehouse down on Dockside."

Enturi turns to the dwarf. "Well? What can you tell us, Bolin?"

Pulling out a dark cloth from one of many pockets, the dwarf wipes his hands clean as he speaks. "The girl was drugged. She was in the twilight sleep."

"Twilight sleep? What's that?" I've never heard of it.

"A state of painless drifting, awake but without feeling pain, with no memory later of what happened while you are under it's spell."

"You mean she was awake when he cubed her?" Enturi is appalled. "She watched him cut her apart till she died?"

"Till she died, no." The dwarf speaks slowly, as if talking to a child. "She would have passed out from blood loss well before she bled out completely. But if the cutter was . . . precise . . . she may have been conscious for some time."

Enturi is pale. As is Lynae. They look shaken. I envy them a little. I am not exactly friends with depravity, but I have seen so much of it that its presence does not cause me discomfort.

The dwarf's words 'under it's spell' linger in my mind.

"Is it a spell?" I ask. The dwarf shakes his head impatiently. "No," he grunts. "As I said, it's a drug, an herbal concoction. Made from hogbane and poppy. Rare around here, since poppies aren't native." 

"So, not some cheap back-alley knockout powder," observes Enturi. "Interesting. And suggestive." He turns back to the dwarf. "What else?"

"Many sharp and small blades were used. Daggers or knives; maybe cutting blades for shaving or chirurgy."

"So this was planned, by someone with special tools for it?" Enturi is not happy. Neither am I. Anyone who would plan such an act would also plan to cover their tracks. Unless they don't have to, like those pats from outside the wall.

"Yeah," Bolin affirms. "Looks that way. But I don't understand. Why would someone do this?" He looks flummoxed.

For me, the answer is easy. "People are sick, depraved bastards," I tell him. "If you can imagine an atrocity, I can guarantee that somewhere some human, dwarf or yeah, even elf has already done it. And got off on it."

Bolin colors. "Dwarves aren't monsters. We're good folk. No dwarf would ever do something like this."

Naive fool.

"Well," says Enturi thoughtfully. "We have several avenues of inquiry. Chase the twilight sleep. Chase the murder tools. Chase the two patricians. Chase the lovesick old elf. I think we ought to visit Calmorien first. Seems an unlikely suspect, but also the easiest to find and pin down. Shall we?"

"Sure," I mutter. Who appointed you leader, pretty boy? But as much as it rankles, what he suggests makes sense, and I didn't think of it, so why not?

"Hold on," Lynae says. While we wait, she searches the room. She slides the bed a few digits out from the wall and reaches behind the headboard.

"I already looked," says Bolin, "There's nothing back there."

"You're right," she says. "Nothing, except for this . . ." She lifts a slender little knife from behind the bed. ". . . and this." A small leather pouch. She smirks at the dwarf, as satisfied as a weasel with a dead snake. I begin to understand why Jet sent her along. Enturi's eyes pounce on the knife.

"A murder weapon?" he asks.

"Doubtful," says the girl, handing it to him. "It was in a concealed spot. Probably a blade she hid for protection, in case of emergency."

Didn't help her this time. Enturi looks it over and shows it to the dwarf, who shakes his head. Then he hands it back to Lynae.

"And the pouch?

"A few coppers and silvers. Payment earned yesterday for her day's work, no doubt. She won't be needing it now." Lynae slips the pouch into her clothing. "All right, I'm ready. To the docks?"