19. Belles to the Walls VII (Epilogue).

“Hmm…” Cain growled as he held an issue of Hornblower, the Horatio Empire’s official newspaper. He couldn’t read what its headline said, but based on its accompanying drawing of Duke Peregrine, he knew he wouldn’t like it. 

“Cat!” the skeleton yelled as he handed the paper to Majel. “What’s this say?” 

Majel swallowed a mouthful of fried seagull leg before reading aloud, “Duke Peregrine Acquittal Likely.” 

There was a groan at the table, mixed with a couple “I told you” and “Of course”s. 

She scanned it for a minute before paraphrasing, “Apparently, that Leopold Halsey guy was some random businessman who just disappeared one day and the public opinion is that the Duke’s responsible. I think the motive was over property rights or something stupid like that.”

“That’s who that dandy thought I was?! ‘Some random businessman'?" Cain asked, slamming his bony fist against the tavern’s wooden table. “Auurgh! If I knew that, I would’ve specified myself first!” he yelled.

“It’s not your fault, Captain, you just weren’t in the right headspace! Remember how those dogs left you beforehand?” D’anna added comfortingly. 

“Ye be not helpin’, elf!” the skeleton sighed. “Now, instead of ‘Sawbones’ Sawyer Cain, everyone thinks that I be some property developer what managed ta get himself killed by tha King of the Fops!” 

“At least you were killed by the King of the Fops! It could’ve been a lot worse, you—” Tawny began.

“Ye be not helpin’, either!” he interrupted. 

Majel looked back at the article, searching for more things to piss off Cain with. “Let’s see… bar, bar, bar… ah, here we go! Apparently, he gave a ‘sizeable donation’ to the Queen as a ‘token of his newfound sense of prosperity and generosity.’” 

“I told you all he’d do that!” Winn said in a sing-songy voice as she squirted a lime into her tea. “No doubt he’ll just get a slap on the wrist and nothing more.”

“Especially after Woodward’s murder was pinned on ‘The Ghost of Leopold Hasley,” Majel grumbled, shaking her head at the usual bouts of injustice she’d come to expect from the Empire. 

“Weeell…” Winn reflected, “...with Cain brutally murdering that one guard, I could see how they came to that conclusion…” 

The skeleton dismissively waved his hand. “It was self defense! As shitty as he is at his job, at least that Constable knew when to pick his battles… unlike Lieutenant Kebab…”

Majel rolled her eyes at Cain’s remark, handing the paper over to Winn. “Puhlease, the only thing the Constable’s good at is pointing fingers.”

The skunk gave the article a once-over while sipping her tea. “‘Once the Duke hath confessed to thy Good Constable, arrested he was, sailed straight and forthwith from the island of Fiddler’s Green to thy Port Bashir in custody,” she quoted verbatim. 

D’anna’s eyes widened. “Does it say how long he’s been there, or…?” 

Winn shook her head. “No. But the party was a fortnight ago, this issue came out last week, and they still haven’t had a trial by its publication. So I’d say… maybe three weeks?”

“Oh my gods! Cain, the servants!” D’anna screamed. “They’re still locked in that closet!”  

Cain’s sockets widened and his face grimaced. “Oh, shit!”   

“They were still locked in that closet,” Majel corrected. 

“So we know that Cain murdered Lieutenant Kebab and this supposed closet full of servants…” Tawny said before squinting her eyes. “But I still wonder… who did actually kill Sir Woodward?”

TWO WEEKS AGO…

The Constable shackled the Duke and firmly held his arm. “Wallace, with Lieutenant Alger, uh…” 

He looked to the body of Alger, still pinned against the wall. The floor underneath him had turned into quite the slipping hazard.

“...out of commission, and most of my officers nowhere to be found, I’m putting you in charge of the evidence. Understood?” 

The guard sharply nodded. 

The Constable smiled. “Good. I’m taking Peregrine to the Marlago for questioning and I want the body of Woodward brought on board, too—along with anything else related to the murder you find.”

“Understood, sir,” Wallace said, nodding again. 

“And…” the Constable added, uncomfortably eying Alger’s corpse, “bring Alger, too. We’ll be sure to notify his family and arrange a proper funeral.” 

“As he deserves for his dedicated service,” Wallace said, his head starting to hurt from all the nodding. 

As René led the Duke to the Fiddler’s Green docks, Wallace sighed. He tried to pick up the body, but to no avail. In the repeated attempts to lift up Woodward, the Sir’s collar had become loose. That is whenever Wallace noticed two holes on the side of his neck. 

“What the…?” he muttered. He dabbed the gaping wounds with a handkerchief, but there was no blood transferred onto its surface. In fact, there wasn’t any other blood that stained his clothes. What could’ve possibly—

“Oh!” Wallace called out, waving down one of the partygoers. “Sir! I—” 

“Count,” the stranger corrected him. 

“Count, my apologies, but that door’s a restricted crime scene right now. Please use the northern entrance with the rest of the guests…” 

The stranger nodded. “Ah, my sincerest apologies."

He walked to the door and turned back to Wallace again. "A good evening to you, Lieutenant…”

“A good evening to you, too…” Wallace said as he looked back at the body. 

The stranger stepped outside, the moonlight reflecting off of his pale skin. He stepped into the castle’s large shadow and out of it flew a large bat, flapping its wings as it soared over the Soval Sea.