~Risch~

Risch stared at the royal order in front of him. He had read over the order tens of times already, but he still didn't like it any better. He had more important things that needed doing. More important than digging into the affairs of a baron of not even a week. The Masler house had been steadily declining over the last couple years, so their questionable activities should've been let to decline with them. Instead, the prince wanted the new baron to end up like the old one. Now Risch had to revive a closed investigation on a kid who turned in his own father and was now engaged to the Wellsworth daughter. There would be nothing to find and the prince probably knew as much.

Even still, there was nothing to do about it. Risch would do his job and that would be that. The only question was how long he would be forced to stick with it. There were other, more important, things that he needed to get to. As much as he hated to admit it, he hadn't been moving the necessary reforms forward as fast as he could have been. With a fire under his ass, he was sure that he would have been able to get things done faster.

"Ihre, what happened to the sources they had for the initial investigation?" he asked his subordinate.

"They were all set free as part of their cooperation agreements. I could try to track them down again, but they won't be obligated to answer questions even if I do find them," she answered dutifully.

Risch tapped against the royal order and thought for a moment. It was a strange dilemma that he found himself in. He was the one called on to conduct this investigation because of his reputation for getting results, but that was only a result of his unwillingness to look the other way. In terms of actual capabilities, he paled in comparison to the other members of the tribunal. He had no local magistrates on his side ready to approve his actions on a whim. Rather, they would be more than happy to prosecute him for improper conduct the moment they found something amiss just so that they could get him out of their hair.

"Register a petition for broadly expanded investigative permissions to his highness. If he seems hesitant, just tell him that we need them because House Masler is too influential. Make sure he feels like he's contributing to the process. We need him invested," he said.

"Yes sir."

The door thudded shut behind Ihre as she left. The room was about as soundproofed as they could make them, so it settled into a comfortable silence. Maybe he would finally be getting visitors down here. Sure, he wasn't exactly on friendly terms with his fellow inquisitors, but that didn't mean they had to ignore him like they did.

***

As much as it pained him, the nobles who were openly hostile to House Finer were few and far between, so Risch found himself in the sitting room of Count Rhier Kendall. With there being no prior arrangements made for Prince Phillip's partner, the count had aimed his ambitions at seeing his daughter become queen. By necessity, that put him at odds with the two foremost candidates, Jezbeth Finer and Marilynne Wellsworth. With the latter recently engaged, he had redoubled his little campaign railing against the potential consolidation of a power like House Finer with the royal family. Had he not needed allies as badly as he did, Risch would have preferred not to get involved with such a uselessly ambitious fool, but times were hard and here he was.

"I'm sure that you know of my reputation, so I will spare you that," Risch conspiratorially. If he just played up their mutual plight, he had no doubt that the count would be happy to jump on board. "I'm more interested in the fact that our goals seem to align." He glanced around, as if to make sure that nobody was listening in. It was laying it on a bit thick, but he didn't put much stock in the man in front of him to pick up on every tell that he laid out for him. "If our dear prince were to choose Finer, then no doubt the common man and more vulnerable among the nobility would be crushed underfoot. I would much rather someone more amenable, like your own house perhaps, ascend to the prince's side."

Perhaps it was because only a fool would harbor ambitions like his, but Count Kendall was quick to bite, "I'm so pleased that you will be on the right side of history. Of course I would be amenable to making some concessions in exchange for your support."

Risch was able to hold back the urge to teach the count about the right side of history, but it was a monumental effort. Even among nobles, Kendall had a reputation for casual cruelty. His carriage was known to have maimed more children who were too slow to get out of the way than most, and he was outspoken in his support for an expansionist war. He was going on about the honorable common man whose sacrifices were what truly allowed his betters to shine. Allying with this man was painful, but it was also better than the alternative. Probably. It was getting harder and harder to tell.

***

It felt like Risch was fighting against his own body more than he was fighting against his partner. The blunt training sword, a steel pole really, was no longer an extension of his body as it had once been. Every jab was met with the extra and untimely secondary thrust of his paunch running into him like a fleshy wall. His swings weren't nearly as controlled as they once had been, but at least those still went in the direction he wanted. His sparring partner, Inquisitor Waire, was more than two decades his senior and yet he moved with the spryness of a hotblooded recruit. He had been a soldier once, but he earned a little too much glory that should've been his betters', so he found himself in the inquisition instead.

Waire came in with yet another slash, this time aimed at Risch's knees and it was all that he could do to stumble backwards and parry. The old quartermaster was ruthless in using his experience. Risch let himself take an extra step backward and feigned breathlessness. Well, he played it up at least. Waire followed up with a quick jab, again aiming below the belt. This time Risch was prepared and he caught the jab on the guard of his sword and pushed out. He took the opportunity to score a solid hit to Waire's side and stepped back.

Risch thought he heard Waire congratulate him for winning the bout, the first time this session, but it was difficult to be sure over the sound of his own breathing. Waire had probably let him win this one just so that he would take a break. He was probably one more bout away from doubling over and losing his lunch with the way things were going.

"I heard that the prince's been backing you of late? I guess you would be the one to last this long," said Waire. No longer gasping quite as desperately, Risch could see the glisten of sweat on the old man's brow, but he looked more refreshed than tired.

"You always had more faith in me than was rightful. I earned my keep is all, same as I was taught back home," Risch answered, "Anyways, the prince only wants someone he can order around as pleases him. If I have his backing, it's only because there's nobody else behind me."

"And you always give yourself no credit, none at all. You probably think you're learning from my example, but a little ambition is healthy too," said Waire, "You ready for another round yet?"

Risch brought his sword up in acknowledgement and settled into a stance. If there was one thing he ought to have learned from Waire then it would be to keep in shape. He started off with a probing cross, far enough back that he wouldn't be committed to anything but close enough that Waire would need to respond. The old man batted away the cut and came in fast like always. Back and forth, the bout devolved from calculated moves to sluggish plays to buy space. When Waire finally came in for a jab that Risch was ready for he once again caught and shunted away the sword. This time though, when Risch stepped forward to counterattack, Waire was a step ahead and jammed his sword arm between them. The light tap of metal against the back of his neck signaled Risch's loss soon after.

Risch slumped into one of the wooden benches set to the side of the sandy training grounds to rest. Whatever rest he had been hoping for though was interrupted by a certain too chipper subordinate of his.

"Sir, we got the writ! What do we do next?"

As much as it irked him that Ihre's timing was horrendous and her insinuation that he would be bringing her along, she was in the right on both fronts. Risch glowered at how Waire had already found another sparring partner and was now dancing along as if he hadn't been going at it for the better part of two bells. He dragged himself up and onto his feet with only a tenuous hold on his balance. Ihre offered him a hand which he took to steady himself, both grateful and slightly embarrassed that it had taken so little to tire him out.

It turned out that the prince took very little convincing when it came to expediting Risch's investigation, sham though it was. He still reeked of sweat, but it would hardly be noticeable where they were going. The upper wharfs were where most of the sites they had uncovered were located, so that was where he would start.

***

Risch was aware that he drew glares from the men and women who he passed on the street. It hadn't been a long walk, but nevertheless Ihre drew in on herself, looking around little and talking even less. It was basically three paths that inquisitors walked: cloaking themselves with arrogance and self-importance, a healthy dosage of self-hatred, or not walking at all. Risch wished that Ihre would have gone down the first path since the second he absolutely did not recommend, but she hadn't taken up any of the trappings of wealth that so often were the first step. She still wore her hair up like many of the working women of the city, and she seemed to have something against jewelry, probably a hold over from her time on the streets where having anything shiny was just asking for a beating. Those same attitudes helped to keep the overwhelming majority of the poorest class from moving up because it discouraged saving and encouraged consumable spending. Not even the best of thieves could take the drink from one's belly or the high in one's mind.

The waste that clogged up the street occasionally squelched beneath his feet, but he had learned long ago that it was better to step in some than to know what any of it was. He kept up a brisk pace through the crush of washed out colors that surrounded him. While he heard that many inquisitors forgot the smells of the slums while going through training and were miserable every time they came back, his own nose never forgot. The trouble was, he didn't feel all that much better about life when he wasn't smelling rot and death.

The first location he had decided on visiting was best described as a lair. Aboveground it was a squat looking place crammed between two complexes. By regulation, each of the complexes probably should only have housed some twenty residents each, but with no real reason to enforce those rules except when landlords wanted to make evictions, there were probably closer to sixty in each. Below the ground, the lair was as teeming as its surroundings. Reports said that they discovered a refining apparatus to make the powdered end product. To Risch, it looked more like one of the training dummies that spun on a stand covered in appendages. Other than the tower in the center of the space, every last nook and cranny had been scoured.

Ihre was going through a desk that was recessed into the wall, but Risch just scanned the room as a whole. It was unlikely that he found anything that the prior investigation hadn't. What he was really looking for––a door slammed shut somewhere above him––was still on its way. Ihre paused her investigation of the desk and brought out her weapon without a sound. She looked sharp and focused, completely unlike the way she had acted coming here. Perhaps there was more hope there than he had initially thought.

Whoever was above him didn't even try to mask their approach. Risch gave the entrance where he and Ihre had come in some space so that he wouldn't be taken by surprise. It still paid to be careful though, so he kept an eye on some of the other places where an entrance might have been hidden. It was hard to find such things when they were hidden, so the best strategy was often to let them reveal themselves.

There wasn't much light other than the lamp that Ihre had brought, so it was only out of the corner of his eye that he saw a shadow shorten for a moment before snapping back to its original size. Another light source from behind then. He made sure to signal Ihre before he turned fully toward the entrance where the footfalls were coming.

When they finally stepped far enough into the light that he could see their face he was surprised to find that it was a she. She stood very nearly as tall as he did, but while he was more than filled out, she looked half-starved. She didn't carry any weapons that he could see and she didn't match the fighting stance that he had unconsciously fallen into.

"My men told me that some inquisitors who they didn't recognize were snooping around, but who would have thought it would be you?" she said with false mirth, "I do skimp on their educations, but I'll have to put some more effort into their knowledge of history. Our very own Inquisitor Risch!"

Two men, really just boys, had stepped into the light behind the lady, but their faces were masks of confusion at the mention of his name. Ihre didn't show it, but he guessed that she was probably asking similar questions. And how could he not recognize the most beautiful woman he had ever met? She hadn't aged all that well, but aging well was something reserved for the rich and powerful.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Kia," he said.

She grimaced at the mention of her own name and said, "Can't say I miss the days when I was called that. They call me Madam Moon these days." She looked over at Ihre with nostalgia playing across her weathered features. "She doesn't seem your type or has an old friend changed so much?"

"Me, change? I'd never," he said. The two boys she had brought weren't as tense as they had been, but they still watched him closely. Closely enough that trying to pull one over on them wasn't worth the risk. "Gotta hand it to you though, no one would've thought that our little flower had thorns."

"And you were supposedly the gutless one. Enough reminiscing though, what's the inquisition doing poking its head back into my business?" said Madam Moon.

Ihre perked up at that and said, "The prince's orders. Better if you don't make trouble out of them."

It occurred to Risch that he had forgotten to signal her to keep her mouth shut, but it was too late now. Madam Moon's smile was something like Kia's, but altogether distinct. It didn't have the hope or the easy kindness that Kia's had. He also regretted not really answering when Ihre had pressed him on the details of his past when she had first been assigned to him. At least since it was too late now, there wasn't really much benefit to him sharing in the future.

"You're right dear, I wouldn't want to get in the way of Prince Phillip's precious plans now would I," Madam Moon said in a sickly sweet stage whisper. She turned around and left with her pair of guards in tow, but not without giving Risch a wink and a grin. Just like the old days.

Risch wanted then to go gather up all his savings and make a run for it. Just like the old days indeed. Ihre still hadn't moved and she was still poised and tensed, ready to fight. Her expression wasn't nearly as static. It finally settled on a mix of apology and self-deprecation. An early stage indicator of onset self-hatred.

"I fucked that up," she said.