[Salone]

There's a house on the edge,
Of the town of Finch's Hollow.
With a killer on the loose,
And a trail for you to follow.

Can you race against the clock,
To stop this deadly planner?
How many can you save when there's

Murder at Scrimshaw Manor?

When seven guests who bear ill will towards one another meet for dinner on a dark and stormy night, murder is on the mind of one. After their first kill, they will be pressed to continue! Only you can uncover the murderer, find out why they did it, and keep them from killing again. Good luck, people of Trisphee!

How does it work?

The first two chapters of the story are available in the beginning. Your job is to read over or listen to them, trying to find clues as to who could possibly wish to murder someone and why. In the beginning it will be daunting, and pinning the killer may prove incredibly difficult until new information comes to light. Each round that the killer gets away adds another round to the story, where they will kill again. While it is sad that they will strike again, each victim leaves behind more evidence pointing to their murderer. Anything could be a clue! In contrast, anything could also be the red herring that sends you in the wrong direction...

How do you play?

After reading, check back through all of the information available to you. Check to see if new evidence has been found in the various rooms throughout the manor. During interrogation periods, you will also be able to interview the guests by submitting questions that will be collected from posts and condensed down into testimony. Once you think you have things correct, you may make your accusation. How do you make an accusation? Follow the skeleton profile below! Fill out the profile and post it in the Murder at Scrimshaw Manor Discussion thread.

The Murderer:

How they did it:

Why:

Why should I play?

Because you win this for participating, you lug!



Look! It has multiple colors and poses!



No bones about it, this is a swell item, and the only way to get it is to play!

You may freely discuss the murder(s) and investigations with other users, and it is definitely encouraged. You're all on the same side here! Too many wrong submissions or not enough correct information will hinder the investigation and give the killer time to kill again. Too many dead, and the killer will have free reign! Stop the killer, win a cool item, and save the day!

[Salone]

The Cast

Dervy Tavish

Dervy started his career as a mere farmhand. Now he owns nearly half of the farms of the city of Finch's Hollow. An enterprising businessman and a person of higher standing who remembers where he came from, Dervy still speaks and acts as if he is of the common folk. However, his down to earth charm hides a shrewd and ruthless businessman, and rumors of several accidents on competing farmlands have been supposedly linked to him. Other members of the upper crust have spoken out about his business practices as well, although so far no one has come forward with the evidence of his wrongdoing...yet.

Recently Dervy has been having issues with his wife, and she has threatened to leave him multiple times. A jagged split would cost him dearly, not to mention whatever she might say to hurt his business after she is no longer involved with it. While Dervy remembers what it was like to sleep in a stable, he has no desire to ever go back to such a life and aims to keep it that way.

Lady Agatha Scrimshaw

The Lady Scrimshaw comes from Old Money. Disdainful of the enterprising upstarts who have made fortunes in their lifetimes alone, she has spent her life in opulence and striving to keep with the latest trends of others like her to distance herself from those with “Coffers without class”. However as a Lady of etiquette, even she must entertain the less desirable of her class. Otherwise, who would she have to look down on? It is no secret that she sees herself as superior in every way to those around her, and below her haughty demeanor lies a snake of a woman who would do anything to keep her name at the forefront of high society.

Lady Scrimshaw holds no respect for Lord Treylbach, who she sees as a 'traitor' to her kind of people. Giving the people rights and talking and walking among the common man begin to give them ideas, and to think that she was equal to them would cause her to gag if etiquette did not forbid it. She has also been pressed to the edge of her reserved calmness as she has had to spend countless days in the company of the much less refined Giselle Tavish. Since Mrs. Tavish rose to riches, she has been a thorn in Lady Scrimshaw's side as she pitifully attempts to participate among the higher bred classes, and her mockery of the elite by imitation has caused many nights of embarrassment.

Captain Commander Igglethorpe Bosney

Igglethorp “Bucking” Bosney is the aging commander of the city Watch. A military man through most of his life, age has finally relegated him to a less “Death and Glory” job, although the Watch still provides him with enough spice for life. Respected by his peers and underlings, he strives to run a tight ship and to keep his city streets clean. He tolerates the high society types at best, and makes it well known that any function he attends is done under protest to show good faith by the city. The well buttoned Commander isn't all polish and sheen though, and a questionable disappearance before a battle in his earlier days has had some of his old brothers in arms questioning...the ones still alive, anyway.

The Captain Commander has been recently looking in to allegations of Dervy Tavish's strong arming of other businesses, and suspects that he may learn something to cement his hunches at the party. To compound matters, his old lover Isabelle is due to attend, and rumors about her involvement with Tavish's practices will only complicate things more.

Lady Isabelle Molatto

Isabelle “Mad” Molatto made her fortunes in the fires of battle. A fine swordswoman and the capacity to lead others put her on the start of forming a very successful band of mercenaries for hire. Over the decades she has amassed countless victories in the name of coin, and in her autumn years has settled down to a more relaxed lifestyle to enjoy her fortunes while others fight for her. Life is not all chocolates though, and she has made many enemies who have made revenge against her personal. She has seen to many of their untimely and sometimes never proven demises. Gossip about her temper abounds, and rumors about her men doing the dirty work of Tavish has not improved it.

She was once also romantically involved with a then much younger Igglethorp Bosney during their glory days, although a sudden and unexplained spurning by him has caused her much anger and grief over her many years. Seeing him again is sure to bring back very maligned memories.

Lord Consul Gunther Helkonan-Oscar-Seclassi Treylbach

Lord Treylbach is an aged but very active member of high society. A voice of the people and well respected in the community, he has been a bastion of hope for those downtrodden who look to the government to grant respite. Campaigning for reform to labor and the rights of the people, he has earned the trust of the common man. A few however do not trust him, and remember that opponents to his more personal civic agendas have found scandals destroying their platform or have even gone missing. Treylbach maintains a wizened grandfatherly appearance though, and pulls out every stop to keep the popular opinion of the people in his sway. Anything threatening this would be detrimental to his end goals, and he is sure that several opponents know this.

Lord Treylbach has recently began campaigning for regulations against the large businesses attempting to monopolize industries, specifically Tavish Farms and their acquisitions of competitors suffering untimely setbacks. He has met with resistance against his proposals by both the Lady Scrimshaw and Dervy Tavish himself. While he knows he can never bring Tavish around to his view, he hopes that maybe cornering Scrimshaw will help her see things his way, as competing prices for crops will keep the populace satisfied and occupied, and most importantly in their pockets.

Giselle Tavish

Mrs. Giselle Tavish is the wife of Dervy Tavish. Unlike her husband, she has forgotten all too easily the humble beginnings she came from, and now lives life spending her husband's vast fortune. Marrying the man for his ballooning wealth was a great start at a better life, but soon the farce of a loving wife was getting harder to keep up as he insisted on his lower class ways while she attempted to integrate in to high society living. She has been met with frustrating resistance, and feels she is not respected by the Lady Scrimshaw. In her jealous mind, she has decided that as a Lady she must spend an unending amount of polite society time in the accompaniment of Lady Scrimshaw, until she is either accepted or causes her detractor to crack and lose face in society with the real side of her that Giselle suspects is there.

She has had increasingly frequent problems with Dervy lately, and threats to leave him or to tell anyone what they want to hear about his business practices has kept the money flowing to her...so far. However, she knows that it cannot go on forever, not without some sort of permanent resolution, and has ideas about seeing her husband out of the way for her to take control of the business, along with its vast fortune.

Alabaster Manstrode

Alabaster has served the Scrimshaw family as their butler for as long as he can remember. Raised as a kitchen boy, he was placed under the wing of Lady Scrimshaw herself by her father. As the years have gone and family has passed away, Alabaster has remained at Scrimshaw's side. Alabaster has been made head butler, which matters in title only as he is the only servant of the manor to survive Agatha's temper. The few who know him by name whisper that he may have orchestrated Scrimshaw closing herself away from the world, and has manipulated her in to firing staff and distancing herself from any relatives so that he may take over her vast fortunes one day. If this is indeed the case, then he has been incredibly patient, as he has stuck by her side for several decades in to his older age.

Alabaster frequently makes his way to town in the stead of Scrimshaw to purchase the necessities for the household, and is the sole cook as well as butler and cleaner of the estate. He also takes a steady combination of medicine that must be closely measured, as incorrect measurements or doses could lead to unfortunate symptoms or death.

[Salone]

Locations

The Dining Hall

A room that deserves its name, the dining hall plays host to the extravagant parties of the Lady Scrimshaw. Elegant and spared no expense, the great floor is swathed in exquisite imported Cherry Blossom marble, cleaned and polished with great care. The long walls of the hall are adorned with exquisite stained glass blown in to beautiful depictions of stylized hunts, forgotten battles and events from the long line of Scrimshaws that have walked these halls. Towards the right side of the room, a long table capable of entertaining many guests rests upon the floor, the finest mahogany expertly polished and carved, only to be covered with a blood red table cloth. For tonight, six high backed chairs of the same cut of wood are spaced equally along the table, putting great distance between each guest. Aside from this table and chairs, the rest of the hall has been left bare, and once upon a time had been used to play host to elegant balls and other parties. The only thing that dances across it now is the flicker of flame reflected from the gas light lamps , twisted in to metal impersonations of artistic plants. Over the center of the room is an intricate chandelier, hundreds of candles burning away quietly in to the night. It graces the ceiling with its soft glow, and anyone looking upward would easily be able to make out the large fresco encircling its light. At both ends of the room is a set of massive double doors, carved in the curling theme of plants. Each door swings excellently on its hinge, and for such a large device it is surprising that it makes no noise when opened, and only a soft “thud” to signify the latch falling in to place when closed.

The body of Lord Treylbach is slumped over the table, left untouched since his death.

The Theater

Once upon a time this room was used by the Lady Scrimshaw, when she was a patron of the arts. Now it lies in disuse. A small series of theater seats line up in rows, descending in number as they approach the stage to give the room a rounded wedge shape. Two aisles break apart the rows of seating as the floor descends towards the stage, and meet a carpet encircling it. The stage itself is made of beautiful wood, the scrapes and dings from uses in the past now covered over by a layer of thick, undisturbed dust. The empty stage is illuminated by a single gas burning ghost light, casting a muted glow across wood. Faded curtains hang limply at either side of the stage floor, hiding the entrance to backstage and whatever may lie beyond. The darkness eats away at the light as it travels further from the stage, and the murkiness makes it hard to navigate unless one is directly on stage. You begin to wonder how easily someone could hide by merely sitting in one of the seats, even with the ghost light burning away. Further towards the back of the room, the two aisles turn and meet each other along the far wall, where a small set of double doors provide the only obvious entrance and exit to the room. A lack of windows refuses any light inside, and makes the back wall completely enshrouded in darkness.

The Library

A sea of aged books swells within these rich, thick shelves. Massive and long rows disappear in to various avenues, some crossing or breaking away to allow access halfway between shelves. It would not be surprising to find that thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of books reside here, novels and documentations over every discernible subject. Here the cleaning staff seems to have been more neglectful in their duties, and many rows of books play home to a light sheen of dust. In the very center of the library is an open space, several plush chairs residing upon the soft mauve carpet. The library is incredibly still, and it is easily noticed that all sound feels muffled and muted in this room. Footsteps disappear in to the carpet and voices sound distant and hollow. The architecture and design seems to have caused this on purpose to give a reader the minimum amount of distraction. By one of the chairs in the center is a small gas light illuminating the area, along with several candle lanterns for purveyors of books. They are sorely needed, as venturing in to the long shelves reveals that they quickly swallow up both light and sound, and finding any book within the gloom without one would be nearly impossible.

The Kitchens

For all the space of the mansion, the kitchen is packed and dingy. Long counters take up most of the sides of the large room, and various islands filled with pots and pans would make it hard to navigate if the Lady Scrimshaw possessed a kitchen staff. One of the kitchen islands is particularly set apart, and each section is marked to show the seating arrangements of where each guest will be sitting in the dining hall, as to allow the staff to prepare specific meals for each person and where the meal is to be put upon the table. Along the far wall near the entry to the wine cellar is a massive oven, large enough for baking or cooking multiple rows of dinners and large enough to easily step inside to clean. Along the walls are a large assortment of knives, pokers, various other types of cutlery and whatever else one might find in a kitchen that prepares a wide variety of food. In the corner of the room is the scullery, situated next to a door that allows for quick access to the outside grounds of Scrimshaw Manor for discrete entry and access should the staff need to leave to obtain something for an occasion without disturbing guests. The entire room is poorly lit, and many shadows are well encroaching upon the walls without the fires of the oven to push them back.

The Wine Cellar

Maneuvering down the old and slick steps from the kitchen brings one in to the wine cellar. It is old and musty, and being below the ground keeps the contents of the room cool, as well as anyone who may venture down here. The room is only dimly lit by the poor light from the kitchen, and as such rows of wines of varying flavors and years disappear in to the darkness towards the far wall of the room. The air itself is clammy, and soft layers of condensation build up along with the dust upon each bottle.

The body of Giselle Tavish lies in a battered heap here, beaten and bruised from her fall down the stairs. The steps leading up are dripping with wine and covered in shattered glass, and blood oozes from several cuts and scrapes.

[Salone]

Chapter One:
The Introductions

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The evening had not been going well. Traveling from the city of Finch's Hollow to the country estate of Scrimshaw Manor had left the five visitors feeling taxed and worn thin. Compounding their dissatisfied moods was the recognition of all the other arriving guests, a veritable who's who of names they did not wish to see in polite company. Only the chance of seeing how much better one was doing compared to the rest was keeping their smiles genuine. Lady Scrimshaw herself had the act mastered, managing a warm smile for her guests as she greeted each one, including the two latecomers she was least excited to see.

“Mr. Tavish, it is a pleasant sight to see you doing well.”

A lie, of course. Lady Scrimshaw held great disdain for the farmhand-turned-business magnate. New upstarts like this were giving the nobility a bad name, and the idea that one could rise from one social status to the next struck a bitter taste in her mouth. He was shabby, had no punctuality, and...she wrinkled her nose. Was that wine on him she smelled? What a horrible man. He wasn't the only classless barbarian she had to tolerate, but at the moment he was prominent, and she had regrettably invited him to her estate for dinner for the sheer fact of saving face. However, if there was one person she disliked more than Dervy Tavish, it was his wife. Dervy was a brute, but his wife attempted to follow and imitate Scrimshaw like a small child. It was a mockery of her station.

“Cheers, Lady Scrimshaw. Devil of a time making it out this way, but good to see you all the same. I'm sure you know the missus. Gilly, say hello why don'tcha?”

Giselle Tavish winced in disdain as Dervy butchered her name. It was a nickname she thought she had left behind in the old word of peasantry when she had married Dervy, but his daily use of it wore down her nerves. It was a reminder of where she came from, and she had tried for years to put it behind her. The money had been great, but the marriage...perhaps she would soon see to that. It was becoming too much for her deal with. She knew she was meant to be a part of high society. One day both her husband and the Lady Scrimshaw would realize that.

“Dear, please! Not in front of polite company! Lady Scrimshaw, it is always a pleasure to see your face.”

Of course it is, thought the Lady Scrimshaw as she beckoned them in. It gives you something to aspire to be.

She proceeded to guide them through the foyer of the manor, making idle talk about the dreary weather outside, as is always the safe and polite subject when talking with distant company. Sadly Dervy was ignorant to such social checks and balances.

“Pardon me Agatha, but where is your manservant? Isn't it the posh thing to have the old boy let us in?”

Agatha Scrimshaw flustered, struggling to keep herself afloat on Tavish's crass addressing.

“My dear Tavish, I wouldn't dream of it. Every guest is a personal friend of mine, and I wish to invite them across my threshold myself.”

Aside from the lie, the other omission that she had left out was that her butler Alabaster was currently in the kitchen, devoting himself to a meal that hopefully none of her guests would soon forget.

“Alright, that's fine. Good to see you being kind to us chaps then!” Tavish clapped his hands together, rubbing them back and forth. “So, when do we eat?”

Scrimshaw and Giselle shared a look with each other, the one relatable thing that the two had was their bemusement of Dervy's lack of etiquette. “Well,” began the Lady Scrimshaw, pausing to give herself time to process the grubby, classless man. “The other guests have arrived and have enjoyed themselves in perusing my estate. We shall begin dinner within half an hour.”

At least that will shut him up for a time, she thought as she led the two in to the dining hall. If only it were a more permanent solution to this horrid little gremlin.

[Salone]

Chapter 2:
The Dinner

Pssst. Want to listen along instead of reading? Click here!


An hour passed before the meal was served, much to the chagrin of Dervy. Conversation had proceeded politely, if somewhat stiffly between the other guests. They were each spaced rather far apart around the long table they had been seated at, and being heard clearly required a loud voice on the part of a speaker. So far the last few minutes had been occupied by Captain Commander Igglethorpe Bosney giving his retelling of a particular vicious arrest.

“We had found this bloke poking around one of the farms late at night, 'making a disturbance' as we like to say. Crownley told him to freeze, which I don't know why, they never do. So he bolts towards the city, where there's only more of us to catch him! So he's running towards us and I raise my crossbow and tell him to drop the knife, which he does. Crownley catches up and starts to place him in the wagon, when the bastard pulls another knife and stabs Crownley right in the stomach! He tried to get away in the chaos. Fortunately one of the constables winged him pretty good with a bolt. Too good really, he bled out within the hour. Crownley's off patrol though, it's a miracle he survived. Don't know what the git was thinking, stabbing an officer in front of twenty others.”

The rest of the group nodded in mock interest, clearly not as enraptured by the tale as Bosney. However, one piped up to inquire more.

“Did he have a name? Did you learn who he was?”

The woman who had spoke was Isabelle Molatto, an old flame of the Captain. Her fiery red hair had been somewhat tamed by years of lighter color, and now silver began to overtake it. What fire she had lost from her hair must have gone straight to her head, and Bosney suspected as much as she stared him down. That one he regretted walking away from. He was surprised he had made it this far in life without finding a dagger in his back, and her cordial attitude towards him only served to put him more on his toes. He cleared his throat, picking his way carefully through the dialogue.

“Well, no. No one has come forth to identify him and we haven't seen him before. Probably wandered over from Carver's Way or Lochlan. We'll get to the bottom of it though. Nothing can hide from the Watch for long.”

She nodded, looking away as she mulled the answer over. “See that you do, Captain” she said.

Silence. That awkward silence that threatens to overtake a room when the conversation whimpers and dies was now descending upon them. It was oppressive. It ground upon their minds until the lull was broken as the great doors swung open. The butler Alabaster crossed through the doorway, pushing a great cart filled with the food of tonight's feast.

“My most sincerest apologies for this travesty of a late dinner.” he said, stopping and beginning to lay the individual plates of food in front each of the guests. Lady Scrimshaw clucked at him in disappointment.

“What happened Alabaster? You assured me that the food would be ready on time.”

Alabaster bowed, incredibly humbled by his negligence to his guests.

“A thousand pardons, madam. I thought I had already selected the wine for tonight's courses from the cellar, but could not find the bottle I had chosen. I had to go to the wine cellar to find a replacement that would pair wonderfully, and upon my return I discovered that I had only misplaced the original choice. I am most apologetic for this transgression against tonight's event, and plead your forgiveness.”

“Be more attentive next time, Alabaster.”

Right, thought Dervy, Her attitude is as warm as the food.

There was a collective improvement to the attitude as the spread was placed in front of them. As Alabaster began placing a dish of thick cuts of ham in front of the Lady Scrimshaw, he quickly retrieved it. “My apologies, Lady Scrimshaw. I have nearly forgot!” With a bow he set the spread of food in front of Lord Treylbach, giving him a warm smile. Treylbach eyed it for a moment but gave it no more consideration, as any food would be worth it at this point. With a flutter he placed the corrected meal of a much leaner dish in front of Lady Scrimshaw, giving her a nearly imperceptible nod as he did so. With that he left for the kitchen, wheeling his tray with him.

“My guests,” said Lady Scrimshaw, “You may...begin.”

Conversation fell as they ate, with only the occasional word exchanged. It was about halfway through when Lord Treylbach cleared his throat, addressing the rest of the group.

“I hate to spoil a decent meal with political talk, but I would like to address the proposed regulations for business entities of Finch's Hollow.”

Dervy dropped the fork from his left hand, letting it clatter on to the plate. “Alright you, that's no right talk for a good dinner like this, aye?”

Treylbach frowned, putting a hand to his chest. “I merely wish to have a civil discussion about the possibility of businesses not allowed to run rampant. If they are allowed to become so large that they may hold the economy and people hostage, then they...they...”

Tavish stood up, throwing his hands down on the table. “Speak up you old tosser! What are you trying to accuse me of?”

Treylbach looked upwards, and then he slumped on to the table.

There were collective screams as his glassy stare caught the Lady Scrimshaw. With speed Bosney rose from his seat, making his way around the table to Treylbach's side. With fingers to the man's temple, he checked for a pulse that he could no longer detect. Shaking his head, he gave them the news.

“He's dead. Lord Treylbach has died.”

A collective gasp rose up from the guests. Lady Scrimshaw withdrew from her seat and approached Bosney. “What do you mean, dead? He was just speaking.”

“Oh aye,” said Bosney, malice in his voice.“And now he's dead. A man with enemies sitting down to dinner with them and winds up dead halfway in to a meal. That's suspicious. That's...”

He leaned down and sniffed at Treylbach's plate of food, investigating a liquid pooling from the slabs of meat. He ran a finger through it and brought it up to his nose, sniffing at it. Everyone else watched.

“Laudanum” he said, “Painkiller. But this is a rather large amount. The inside of the meat has been slathered with it. Ladies and gentlemen, Treylbach is not only dead...he was murdered!”

The hall froze as one, heads collectively swiveling back to the corpse of Treylbach. Isabelle was the first to speak.

“Now now Bosney, Treylbach was old. You find some painkiller mixed in his meal, that he probably put there himself, and automatically assume that he was murdered? You're jumping to conclusions.”

“Bugger that!” Dervy said, pointing at Treylbach. “Poor sod's been murdered. I never saw him take medicine for anything. Did you? Or maybe, just maybe, there's someone here who would have some on hand eh? Give the old man a wee bit too much eh? Pin it on himself?”

There was silence as everyone contemplated the situation. Lady Scrimshaw cleared her throat, speaking in a carefully measured tone.

“In the interests of being transparent, I would like to inform you that my butler Alabaster does take Laudanum for his heart. However, I highly doubt it was-”

Igglethorpe shook his head, cutting her off with his booming words.

“No, you send for him now! I am getting to the bottom of this. More than one person here wanted Treylbach out of the picture and I'm going to find out who snuffed him!”

“Very well,” Lady Scrimshaw replied. She raised her voice, its shrill treble echoing down the hall. “Alabaster, assistance please!”

There were several minutes before the double doors opened. Alabaster appeared, looking wearied and pained.

“My apologies fair Lady, but I seem to have misplaced my heart medication. However, I am ready to assist you.”

Alabaster was immediately cornered by Igglethorpe, who withdrew his cudgel (his only weapon on his person, more for work than ceremony), and began to threaten Alabaster.

“Right, you. Treylbach is dead and it looks like he was given a high dose of the same stuff you take. I think it's time we had a talk.”

Lady Scrimshaw protested, rushing to the side of Alabaster. “Do not threaten my butler!” she said, putting herself protectively between him and Igglethorpe. “He has no reason to murder anyone here!”

“Is that right?” replied Igglethorpe, turning to look at the rest of the group.

“But everyone else does, I think. Let's get to it. No one leaves until this is solved! Are we clear?”

The assembled group nodded their heads somberly, grim faces looking back at Igglethorpe as he cornered the butler. “Right. Alabaster was it? I'm going to start with you. And then, I'm going to see to the rest of you having a little talk. No one breaks the law on my watch.”

Isabelle spoke up, anger apparent in her words. “Bosney, you're quick to jump. For all we know, it could have been you!”

Igglethorpe rounded on her, raising a finger to her face.

“Don't even start, Molatto. I am the law here!”

She shrugged, crossing her arms. “Exactly” she said, “What better way to cover it up?”

Igglethorpe grimaced, visibly enraged. “I would never! Someone poisoned him, and I'm going to find out who it was.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. Everyone had a bottle of Laudanum, it was used for a multitude of things. It would be rather hard to prove anything, even if some were found on someone. Dervy appeared to be thinking the same thing.

“Oy, Bosney” he said, standing up and emptying his pockets, pulling out a half full bottle of the opiate. “Look, I've got some, just picked it up in town the other day. Been having a spot of, er, to say in polite company, 'issues of the stomach'. And I bet I'm not the only one. With the medicine, I mean. What about you?”

There was some murmuring of agreement, as Isabelle produced a nearly empty bottle herself. Igglethorpe looked back and forth at the multiple bottles, and was surprised to see even Lady Scrimshaw attempt to demurely place a bottle in front of her. He cleared his throat and began his rage again. After a while he sighed, producing a small flask from inside his trousers and tossing it down the table.

“Alright, fine. I know it because I take it too. We all take it. But one of us didn't and now he's dead from it. So we're going to go around the table now, and I plan to find out who did it...and why.”

And thus, the first round of interrogation began.

[Salone]

Chapter 3:
The Drink

Pssst. Want to listen along instead of reading? Click here!

“Right. This doesn't solve anything.”

Igglethorpe paced back and forth, grumbling to himself under his breath. This had got him nowhere, and his insecurities about his ability to police were now manifesting themselves. How could he let Treylbach be murdered right under his nose? And even now, the killer was right in front of him.

“Oy, Igglethorpe. What do we do now? I don't want to be here if there's a killer in our midst.”

Dervy twiddled his thumbs, looking positively anxious. He squirmed a bit, finding it hard to keep himself in one place. He spoke up again before Igglethorpe could answer him, directing his attention to the Lady Scrimshaw.

“Pardon me Scrimshaw, but where is the loo? Can I er, borrow it?”

She gave him a disgruntled stare, pointing back towards the far door.

“Out there, down the hall, to the left you will find the guest bathroom. I do hope you hurry back, Dervy.”

With a nod he headed towards the door, quickly crossing the floor at a hurried pace. There was silence between the group as the door opened and then shut once again.

Igglethorpe cleared his throat. “Now then, this is what we're going to do. One of us is a murderer, I'm sure. I need some facts, and I know where to get them. Lady Scrimshaw, you've got a library. Do you have an alchemical encyclopedia I could borrow?”

Lady Scrimshaw nodded her head, recovering from Tavish's lewdness. “Why yes, of course. I insist upon it. I believe you know where the library is, but I will show you. I must...compose myself again in my rooms. Please, follow me. The rest of you...do not wander off. I doubt you can, anyway. Alabaster prefers to keep the doors locked. Speaking of...Alabaster?”

The rest of the group turned. The butler had wandered away, and no one had seen him do it. Igglethorpe frowned at the lack of the man. “Quiet and sneaky for a daft old butler. You know how to hire them, Scrimshaw.” She blushed, taken aback by the lack of etiquette shown on her butler's behalf. “I do apologize. He's possessed of a rather one track mind. He may be preparing the next course already. Please, follow me Captain Bosney.”

She escorted him away from the table, leaving Giselle Tavish and Isabelle alone together. The women sat in awkwardness, completely alone aside from the cold body of Treylbach sitting some distance away.

The two sat for a while, noting the uncomfortable silence as one of them searched for something to say.
'So...” Giselle trailed off, unsure of what to say in the presence of a Lad- woman such as Molatto.

“Oh, do not play your silly game of pretend with me, Gilly Tavish. We both know what you are. You're nothing more than a leech with a pretty face, looking to attach yourself to someone rich so you can suck it dry before something comes along and uglies you up. If your face matched your heart, you'd still be in the gutter. Learn a trade, Giselle. Do something with your life. You might think being arm candy suits you, but sugar spoils darling. I've got no time for the likes of you. I'm going to solve this before that bumbling ignorant Bosney mucks it up.” And with that, Isabelle walked away, leaving Giselle in tears.

How could she say that? Isabelle had always seemed...well, not nice, but at least tolerable whenever she had met her during business dealings with Dervy. Was that how she really felt about her? What if she was right? What if Giselle really was simply nothing but a leech? It was too much. The entire evening had very quickly become too much for her. She needed a drink. A drink would make everything better. It may not make the pain go away, but it would hold it back until she could stand it. Her supposedly loving husband should have shared.

She left the dining room, wandering through the large doors and down one of the hallways until she came across the kitchens. Creeping through the entrance, she gazed around the room, the only thing accompanying her was the sound of embers dying in the cooling ovens. Where was- ah, yes. There. There was the wine cellar. With steps of relief she steadied herself as she moved down the slick stone slabs. The air was cool down here, and the only light spilled in from the kitchen itself. It didn't matter though. Giselle's life had turned dark, and this is where she belonged. She selected a bottle at random, and nursed it hungrily as she tried to forget. The night was never supposed to go like this. She lost track of time, emptying the priceless bottle in a matter of minutes before moving on to another. Forget the taste. Forget the, the swishing all the nobs were supposed to do. No one actually enjoyed the taste of wine. She was drinking it for the reason every poor peasant before her drank anything with alcohol in it, and that was to drink. To get drunk. To quickly swallow it just to make it happen faster. She took her time on the second one, if only because she was reeling from all of the alcohol suddenly introducing itself to her system. Halfway in to her second, she decided it was time to leave. It was time to leave the party. It was time to leave this, all of this. It was time to leave Dervy. Molatto had hurt her, but maybe she was right. Maybe she should actually do something for herself. With a sluggish wavering, she got to her feet and began to trudge up the steps to the kitchen.

It took her several minutes as she studied the steps leading upwards, but she made it most of the way up with very few slips. The condensation building up made it tricky to navigate when sober, and the wine coursing through her was offering little help. She had nearly made it to the top step before a shadow loomed above her. She looked upwards. And then she was shoved, hard.

Giselle fell backwards down the stairs, screaming as she let go of the bottle. It fell back with her, hitting the steps and shattering as she tumbled down. The stairs beat at her, bruising and breaking her body as she fell. A particularly sharp edge caught her skull, and with a nasty crack, Giselle Tavish was no longer alive to witness her descent in to the dark.

Nearly half a minute after her scream, another followed it as Alabaster came running from the kitchens. “Giselle is dead! Giselle is dead! Giselle has fallen in to the wine cellar!” He rushed about the manor, crying out until his voice became hoarse as the others began to congregate. As one group they rushed in to the kitchens, shouting and bustling in confusion as they navigated down the steps to the battered body. Dervy broke from the group, rushing to his wife's side as he cradled her body in his arms.

“No, no, blast it, no! Oh Gilly, what have you done?!”

Igglethorpe fumed, looking back towards the shattered glass of the wine bottle before circling back around to Dervy and Giselle. “Right Dervy. I'm sorry. I think your wife has become victim number two. I'm going to need to examine her.”

Dervy clutched her tighter to him, the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes. “Oh piss off! She's not even cold yet and you wanna 'examine' her? Just what for eh?”

“Because Dervy, I think she was murdered. Someone wanted more than just Treylbach gone tonight. So now they're going for two and one of you, one of you is a cold bastard who needs to be brought to heel!”

And thus, the second round of interrogation commenced.

[Salone]

Chapter 4:
The Revelation

Pssst. Want to listen along instead of reading? Click here!

Igglethorpe addressed the party, holding his hand out expectantly.

“Right. Hand it all over, all the Laudanum. Cough it up!”

With sounds of disgruntlement, the group produced their bottles of the opiate. Igglethorpe took them all, being careful to remember which bottle came from who. As he came to Isabelle, she angrily thrust her nearly empty bottle towards him.

“Go ahead Bosney. Run away again, like you always do.”

He scowled at her, not replying as he took the bottle and proceeded back upstairs.

“Oy, Bosney. What are we supposed to do?”

Igglethorpe looked back down the stairway to Dervy, who looked up from over his wife's dead body. Igglethorpe shrugged, having no answer for the man.

“I don't know. Whatever you were doing I suppose. One of us is a killer, and I intend to find out who. Until then, I suggest you watch your backs. I will find you, and I will apprehend you.”

With that he proceeded up the stairs, making the lonely trek to the library. As he walked, the light patter of the rain outside seemed to muffle his footsteps. The sound disappeared entirely as he entered the library, his shoes moving silently across the soft carpeted floor.

The library itself was dark, with a small gaslight rising from the floor in the center giving off a dim glow. Seating was positioned around it, with candles arranged nearby for use to peruse the rest of the shelves. Aside from the faint light, the rest of the library was cast in darkness, shelves quickly fading into the black oblivion only a few feet away from the center. Bosney took his seat up once again, spreading the bottles out nearby and consulting a copy of Dr. Earnest Hawthorne's Guide to Compounds and Medications. The time began to slowly burn away as he read. As he did, he withdrew a fountain pen from his inside pocket and began to make small notes on the sides of the pages, quietly hoping that the Lady Scrimshaw would never partake in such a dry read and find his scribbling.

Four bottles. All measured out for 100 milliliters. Isabelle's, about 20 milliliters left? Takes for pain and old wounds. Book says doses of 1.5 milliliters every three to four hours. What does Scrimshaw take it for? About 75 milliliters left maybe. Will have to question her about that. Alabaster said he could not find his, which is odd. Someone with a condition would probably take better care of where they put it. Tavish's, about half. 50 milliliters. For, what did he call it? Stomach trouble? Diarrhea, I assume. Book says .3 to .6 milliliters, about four times a day for that. Describes it being used for symptoms that do not respond to normal treatments. Consider asking Tavish about that. Amount seems odd. My own, for sake of evidence, about 80 milliliters.

He stopped writing, pausing in his defacing of the book as he heard a soft click of the door in the black. He looked up into the void among the bookshelves, calling out in a quivering voice. “Hello? Who is it?”

Isabelle faded into view as she stepped closer, appearing from among the shelves. Bosney stood up quickly, throwing a hand in front of himself to stop her from advancing. She paused, raising her own hands up in caution. “It's alright Bosney. It's just me. No one but me.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the others?” he replied, still not trusting her.

She laughed at him, disdain apparent in her voice. “What, those pompous knobs? No Iggy. No, they're all trying to find the answer themselves. They all want to find the murderer. I let them bicker. There is a different mystery that I want the answer to.

“Go on” he said, fearing he already knew where this was going to go.

“Us, Bosney. What happened to us? Thirty years ago you left me at the altar. You left me, you left me broken and confused. Why did you abandon me?”

Bosney swallowed slowly. “I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready for marriage. I was scared.”

Isabelle swelled with anger, Igglethorpe's words echoing through her head and building up pressure within her endless well of rage.

“You were scared? Thirty years of avoiding me, avoiding everything you built and abandoned with me, and all you can say is that you were scared? You coward! I should have known! After everything I did for you! Everything I ever did! I loved you Bosney! I loved you so much that I saved your life and hid you away while my mercenaries slaughtered your men. I helped you run away! But I guess that's where you got the taste for it, isn't it? Run away from one thing and you think you can run away from the rest!”

“It's not like that!”

“Oh, isn't it? Isn't it Igglethorpe? You know you're facing almost certain defeat in the morning to a mercenary army, and you leap at the chance to avoid your duty when the woman leading them learns she'll be massacring her childhood love? Is that why you led me on? Because I loved you enough to save your hide and keep it secret from the rest of the world? And then you just leave me! You left me at the altar, Bosney! Without a word or an explanation, you weren't even there! You got cold feet and ran away like I taught you to! You left me. You even left me with child.”

The last sentence rocked Bosney on his feet. His head swam as he attempted to process this revelation.

“I have a child?”

Isabelle shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “No. You gave me a child, but he is not yours. How could he be? You were never there for him. You weren't there to provide. Soldiers were his fathers. He played with swords when other kids played with dolls. He has lived the soldier's life and knows his duty. Something that the person who sired him never will. You are a liar and a coward, Igglethorpe Bosney. I should have turned you into Treylbach when I had the chance! I should have-”

She was cut off as Igglethorpe's hand landed across her cheek. She put her hand to the stinging burn, staring at him in shock as he roared.

“No! How dare you? You wait thirty years? Thirty years to tell me I have a son?! You kept this secret just so you could bring this down on me now? No Isabelle. You're unbalanced, insane, and loose! I know you, Molatto. You sell your body like you sell your sword, and the only reason that my child ever had a man in his life is because they were paid by you to kill someone. I'm sure he found it confusing, what with a different man in his mother's bed every night! How dare you rob me of having the chance to raise my son!”

Isabelle fired back, her control on herself slipping.

“You stupid son of a bitch! I loved you Bosney. I loved you with everything that I had. I've had an empty bed ever since you left me. I have known no other lover, and I see now that maybe I am the stupid one here for letting you rob me of the love I could have given to another. I don't know who the killer is here tonight, but I know who will cause your demise, you twisted horrible worm of a man!”

She withdrew a stiletto knife from inside her clothing, screaming as she attacked him in her rage. Bosney leaped backwards, barely dodging her swipes and stabs as he grabbed at his cudgel.

“Isabelle, please! It doesn't have to end like this! Please think of what you're doing!”

She lunged, nicking him across the shoulder as he barely moved away in time. “Oh I know exactly what I'm doing, you cowardly son of a bitch!”

The two fought, Igglethorpe on the defensive as the struggle tumbled backward among the dark shelves of the library. In the dark confusion, Igglethorpe struck wildly with his cudgel, hitting something multiple times in the dark. Isabelle was nearly just as successful, her wild stabs and swings picking away at Igglethorpe. There was screaming as Isabelle's hand was struck by a lucky blow, causing the knife to tumble away to the dark obscured carpet. And then, her scream turned into a blood curdling cry.

“Isabelle? Isabelle?!”

Bosney breathed heavily, his body feeling fire from the blood oozing gashes on his body. He dropped the cudgel, feeling around in the dark in front of him for where Isabelle should have been. As he moved, he tripped over something and fell to the floor. In the darkness, he felt the prone body of Isabelle Molatto next to him, short and ragged breaths escaping from her.

“Isabelle, speak to me!”

There was no response. Her haphazard breathing continued in the black. Rising to his feet, Igglethorpe drug her towards the light in the center space of the library. Her unfocused eyes took in the light, but it did not register as it drew closer. Blood stained the carpet as she came to a stop, her dress ripped and torn. Igglethorpe stared down at her, trying to find the cause of her pain.

“Dammit Isabelle, do not die on me! What happened to you?”

Isabelle stared up into Bosney's weary and tired eyes. With a faint smile, her whisper disappeared and was consumed by the empty blackness that surrounded them.

“You could have been a great father.”

Her last breath escaped her lips. And with it, Isabelle Molatto's life.

“No no no! NO!”

Igglethorpe shouted, beating on her chest in an attempt to rouse her. In the faint glow of the gaslight, more blood pooled below her into the carpet. Tears in his eyes, Bosney turned her over to find the source of her bleeding. The back of her dress was tatters, and the torn away material revealed multiple stab wounds, with a long and deep slash running from the top of her right shoulder to the left side of the small of her back. The blood flowed freely, and Igglethorpe bloodied himself in her life fluid as he attempted to rouse her. In the end, there was nothing he could do.

He was sobbing still when the Lady Scrimshaw and the rest of the dinner party found him in the library, huddled over Isabelle's corpse. They had questions, but they kept their silence as he wept. With reddened eyes, he looked up at the group. His expression was filled with anger, and the distilled rage that Isabelle once had now dripped off of every word as he spoke.

“I am going to find you. And then, I will kill you.”

And thus, the third round of interrogations began.

[Salone]

Chapter 5:
The End

Pssst. Want to listen along instead of reading? Click here!


It clicked. It all made sense.

Bosney's mind raced as all the pieces fell in to place. All the clues, all the testimonies, everything. It all made sense now!

“You!” He rounded on Dervy, finger pointing like the end of a sword. “It was you!”

“Me?!” squeaked Dervy, the anxiety apparent on his face. “How the hell was it me?!”

“You arrived at the door late tonight, but you were here on time! There's a door in the kitchen that goes outside, you snuck in to poison a dinner here tonight! You filched the bottle of wine while the butler wasn't looking and just couldn't resist a drink! When he went to go replace it, you poisoned a meal that you thought was going to be Scrimshaw's! You knew that you couldn't get away with killing Treylbach, but if the support that he needed was killed, he wouldn't be able to move against you! And what better way to do it than to pin it on the butler? Come on, it's always the butler! But that's where it went wrong, isn't it? The meal you thought was for Scrimshaw was served to Treylbach instead, and the night went out of control there. That's when Giselle started having second thoughts about helping you, and you had to give her the shove, literally, to keep her from talking. You never went to the bathroom! You don't even take Laudanum! I looked it up, you'd be dead if you took the amounts you said you do! And as for Isabelle, I can only assume I was right about her working for you. But then you had to tie up that loose end too, didn't you? Or was I your target in the library eh? Maybe that's why you had to hire her, since you're so terrible at doing your own dirty work. Right! You're going to get it now Dervy!”

Dervy screamed, turning and fleeing out of the library and in to the hall. Igglethorpe chased after him, waving his cudgel as he gave chase.

“Stop right there criminal scum!”

Dervy ran for his life, heading back towards the front entrance. He was exposed now, but if he could make it back home, grab as much cash as he could, he could survive on the run. He could make do. It didn't have to come to this.

The doors were close now. He pushed himself on, hands stretched out, ready to catch the latch on the doors and push, he-

He crumpled as the momentum that he thought would push the door open caused him to crash in to the heavy slabs of wood. In his dazed state, Agatha Scrimshaw's words came back to him about Alabaster preferring to lock the doors. Now Bosney was closing in on him, and there was nothing he could do.

“Right you. I meant what I said. You killed three people tonight. Now I'm going to...”

Bosney trailed off, stopping halfway through the act of raising his cudgel. Dervy was laying huddled on the floor now, sobbing in a ball of self pity as he waited for the end to come. With a sigh, Igglethorpe let himself slump.

“Put you under arrest. Where you belong. Come on, get up.”

Igglethorpe reeled as Dervy rose, uppercutting him in the jaw before he rocketed back the way he had came. He was about to clear the doorway from the entrance to the dining hall before the visage of Alabaster manifested itself in the doorway. With a movement hardly believable for his age, the butler struck Dervy across the face with a knockout punch, putting him out cold.

“I'm sorry, but there is to be no running in the manor. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Bosney stared at Alabaster, watching as the man turned and strode back towards the library. Quiet descended upon the room. Now, it was just Igglethorpe and Dervy.

Just the two of them alone.



With no witnesses.