Chapter Fifteen

"Quill"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Ulrich's body hung lifeless on the execution block.

Murmurs spread through the crowd. As usual, they had been filled with vigor during the trial, but doubts crept in after the accused had been hanged. 

There was one person, however, that was still enthusiastic. It was the man that passed out the pamphlets—Edric Cotton. He bellowed out shouts of approval, "Good! Good! More! We must root out this evil!"

I saw some nodding in agreement around him. I realized, when people were filled with doubts, it was easy for them to be swayed by a powerful voice, one that claimed to have the answers.

Hawkthorne glanced at Cotton and a look of disdain flashed across his face. He then gestured to Stowton to bring out the next prisoner, the butcher. As he was escorted Walter onto the podium, several people gasped. It was no surprise. Unlike Ulrich, Walter was a member of their community. People knew him and liked him.

Walter didn't seem to have any clue what was going on. His eyes were vacant and emotionless. When I checked his log entries, they were still just a jumble of incoherent thoughts.

Hawkthorne didn't draw this one out. Walter was found holding his dead wife, who had been killed by Walter's own cleaver. There was no uncertainty here. The executioner promptly tightened the noose around Walter's neck, then released the trapdoor.

[Your partnership with Walter Kemp has ended!]

[Because the partnership ended early, you can finish the remaining time with a previous person you formed a handshake with. Would you like to continue?]

(Yes/No)

I figured I might as well. I clicked "yes" and then a list of all my previous partners came up:

[Please choose one:]

- Minerva Aincroft

I couldn't help but laugh. I didn't even recognize the name at first, but then I remembered it was the woman I met the first night I arrived. 

I tapped her name, then closed the display.

With all the executions completed for the day, the crowd began to disperse. 

I noticed a pleasant scent. It was something flowery, maybe from a nearby garden, being carried over with the light breeze. 

Then I gazed up and saw the two bodies swaying in that very same breeze, and I was quickly brought back to reality.

That's five... Mathus Crowley, Johan Hendriks, Walter and Marcia Kemp, and Ulrich Licht.

The threats were coming from every direction—the witch and their demons, the Inquisitor's witch hunt, the residents casting their votes.

I felt an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I recalled Ulrich's pleading eyes and wondered if there was anything I could have done. 

As I cursed at myself, frustrated with my failures and inaction, I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I glanced over and saw Lenore with her deep, dark eyes gazing up at me. 

"It's a difficult thing," she said in her low flat voice. "I've seen my fair share of these, but they never get easier. Comes with the business, unfortunately." She held up her basket of protective talismans.

I glanced at the contents, useless trinkets like dolls and jars of herbs. I couldn't help but find her words hollow.

"You think I'm a fake, right?" Lenore asked. 

I did, but I wouldn't say it out loud.

"I understand," she continued. "Lots of people think I'm just a charlatan. But what if I put it this way... Most everyone here won't be a victim of this witch. The vast majority of them are going to survive this plight. But do you know what they will suffer from? They're going to suffer from their own fear.

"You see, fear is the real torture. The fear that they might be next. Or the fear that their neighbor might point the finger in their direction. That fear is what's keeping this town in such a state.

"And these trinkets of mine, they might not work against a real witch. But what they can do is give them a little bit of hope to get through the night. Is that such a terrible thing?" 

That was the most I had ever heard her speak. She was smarter than she let on. But the reality was that Lenore was profiting off these people's fear. Even if her trinkets could soothe their hearts, they did nothing for the root problem they were suffering from. 

But I didn't say that. I simply shrugged and said, "You have a point."

Lenore then went quiet again and left me alone. 

* * * * * * * * * * *

I arrived at the blacksmith's shop to find Neville outside, standing rigidly with a disturbed expression. "Oh, it's you," he remarked, his attention elsewhere. I guessed that it was because of the hangings.

He took a deep breath to return to the present, then gestured with a tilt of his head to follow him into the shop.

Inside, Neville set before me a small item wrapped in navy cloth. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal a dagger with the demon's bone set as a hilt. The blade was curved so that it followed the natural curve of the bone, creating an almost "s" shape. The steel itself had a dark woodgrain pattern along the side.

Neville gestured for me to pick it up. I grabbed it by the hilt, instantly noticing the comfortable manner in which it fit into my hand.

"I carved the bone to shape the grip. It's a pretty coarse material, so I used queen's wax to seal and finish it." he explained.

I sliced the knife through the air, admiring its weight and balance. Even in my inexperienced hands it seemed to flow through the air quite naturally,

"Bone can be prone to cracking or splitting, so you want a durable but flexible steel for the blade. I forged crucible steel which requires both pig iron and wrought iron, which is why there's a pattern along the side"

I held the knife up to the light.

"You like it?" Neville asked.

I nodded, "It's perfect."

"Good, it turned out well. And have you thought of a name?"

I hadn't. I thought it over, and only one name came to mind.

[You have gained a new weapon: Quill]

I smiled as I said it over in my head.

"Quill"... The perfect tool for a scribe.

Neville also handed me a simple black scabbard to hold the dagger. "Keep it on your person. Dangerous times."

I nodded. I was planning to keep it in my inventory, but he had a point. It would be best to have it accessible. I strapped the scabbard to the back of my waist and covered it with my cloak.

The feeling and the weight of Quill at my back gave me a sense of security.

"Be careful out there," Neville said. He had a look of honest concern in his eyes that surprised me. I was just a traveler. What did he care what happened to me?

"Did you know him?" I asked. "The butcher, I mean."

After a long pause, the blacksmith nodded his head. "Yeah, I knew him. Walter and Marcia were good people. Don't care what the inquisitors say. And if they were wrong once, what else are they wrong about?"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Back at the inn, I entered my room only to find Elara lying on my bed and reading a pamphlet. 

"Oi, what took you so long?" she asked without looking up. 

"Elara? What are you doing here?"

"I'm checking on you. I'm your guide, aren't I?" 

I rolled my eyes. Some guide you've been. I'm soloing this entire effort.

I glanced at the pamphlet she was reading and scoffed when I saw it was the Malleus Maleficarum. "What's a demon doing reading a pamphlet on witch hunting?"

"Some fascinating stuff in here. Apparently a witch can steal cow's milk by stabbing a knife into a wall."

"The guy that's passing that pamphlet around doesn't realize he's making things worse. Is there anything even remotely useful in there?"

"Nope. Not in the slightest. It's all fantasy and being scared of women," Elara said. "Although, there is a demon I used to hang out with that could probably do that milk trick. It was a simple dimension-folding trait though."

Elara folded the pamphlet into a paper airplane then threw it across the room, "Still, It's interesting to see what's popular these days."

"Popular?" I asked.

"Yeah, everyone in town is reading it. A bit overrated, if you ask me."

I tensed up when I heard this. That's not good... The trials are going to get even worse at this rate.

I had to move more quickly. Follow more threads.

I brought up my display and saw that there was still an hour left before I could form a new partnership. But with who?

While I considered who could potentially be the witch's next target, a new log entry appeared:

[Minerva's Log: Not much daylight left. I'll have to move quickly.]

Curious, Elara shoved her way in to get a closer look. "Who's that?"

"Just some random person." I said. "I accidentally made a partnership with her on the first night. I don't think she even lives in town."

"Then what's she doing near the inn?"

When I gave her a confused look, Elara pointed at the display.

[Minerva's Log: The innkeeper directed me up the stairs.]

My head turned towards the door and I heard the stairwell floorboards creaking as somebody made their way up. I held a finger to my lips to tell Elara to be quiet. I listened closely as the footsteps entered the hallway, then stopped right outside my door.

Elara and I exchanged confused glances.

[Minerva's Log: I set my hand on the door and muttered the incantation.]

My eyes widened as I quickly realized—I'm the target.