The Irritable Inquisitor and the Weary Witch - Chapter 1
Night Castle From T.W. Rolleston’s The Tale of Lohengrin 1910 Cornell University Library
"What is it?" I asked. I could only assume the local sheriff was ready to see me.
"Sheriff Wellin is ready to see you."
I took another look out of the window. High in the hills of northern Rahstora lay the bustling city of Aria. I, Anna, an inquisitor of the Royal Knights, was sent here to help out the local sheriff. Although, in cases like this, they typically give you a specific assignment. From the reaction of the staff here, I knew they weren't expecting me.
"Sheriff Wellin?" I extended my hand as I pulled down my scarf with the other.
"Good to meet you, Inquisitor."
"Likewise."
I took a seat in the cushy chair opposite his desk. Around his office were many knick knacks.
"Inquisitor, what brings you to my beautiful Aria?"
"I've been sent from Eldengrad to help out in any way I can."
"As in, labor? We have a myriad of construction projects…"
"With all due respect, sheriff, do you know what an Inquisitor is?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but didn't say anything. "I… of course I know. I am, however, a little foggy on the specifics."
This man didn't know a damn thing.
"I'm an investigator. I investigate crimes. Murder, theft, arson… grave robbery. I am very good at it."
"I will get you in contact with our lead investigator then."
"Thank you." I stood up.
The sheriff shook my hand. "Thank you again, Inquisitor."
"...Inquisitor what?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What is my name?"
"Your… name is 'Inquisitor'."
"That's my title."
"Oh, very good."
He led me out of his office and down the hall to another office. He unlocked the door and bade me to enter. Inside was a meager desk, a rickety chair, a dilapidated bookcase covered in dusty tomes, and a cobweb-covered fireplace.
"Is this mine?" I asked.
The sheriff gave an uninterested nod before leaving. It was clear to me I would have to find my own assignments.
I left the castle and made my way down the winding cobblestone road. A woman who was making her way up, stepped in front of me. She eyed me curiously, and noticed the pin on my jacket.
"You're… an inquisitor?"
"Yes, I am."
"What are you investigating?"
"I…" I had no answer.
"I'm sure you have a case already…" She went to walk past me, but I blocked her.
"Why? What did you have in mind?"
"Well, I was just going to file a report with the sheriff."
"You can do that too, but tell me first."
"It's… my grandfather's grave was robbed, among others."
"Which cemetery?"
"That one…" she pointed across the mountain. "Sir Alin's cemetery."
"Do you know who might have done it?"
"No clue, ma’am… that's why I was heading up to the castle."
I took a look back up at the castle. When I looked back at her I must have had a sour look on my face, because she flinched when I made eye contact. "I'll look into it."
"You will?” She seemed to relax. “Much appreciated, ma’am."
"Please stop calling me that."
20 minutes later.
I stood at the mouth of a ransacked grave. Not knowing where to start, or where to go, I crouched down and ran my hand through the exposed earth. Sir Alin’s cemetery was dreary, to say the least. Rows and rows of graves. All of them with rather basic headstones. To me, this was one of those ‘bury and forget’ boneyards.
“Gods, what I wouldn’t do to have Marta’s help.” What would she do in this situation?
“Pardon me?” I turned to see a young man standing behind me. He held a shovel that was resting on his shoulder. In his other hand was a pair of gloves. Was this the grave robber coming back? Was he going to kill me?
I rested my hand on the hilt of my sword and stood up to face him. “Who are you?”
He looked me up and down, and, possibly subconsciously, puffed out his chest. “I’m the head shovel boy in this town.”
“I see.” I lowered my hand. “I’m Inquisitor Anna.” I hesitated, but remembering the gloves, I extended my hand.
He shook it, squeezing much harder than necessary. “Good to meet you.”
“I’m looking into the grave robbing. Do you know anything about this…” I pointed to the grave behind me. “Or any others?”
“Ma’am, all due respect, of course…”
“Of course.”
“You don’t wanna look into this one.”
“I don’t, huh?” I asked, a smile tugging at my face. “Why? Is it being done by a corrupt official? A gang of highly skilled fighters?”
“No, just a…” he lowered his voice, like it mattered. “A witch.”
Oh. This could either be nothing, or it could be a big problem. “Can you tell me more?”
“Sure, saw her sneaking around the graveyard late the other night.”
“Did you see her do anything? It’s not illegal to go to the cemetery, you know, even at night.”
“No ma’am, I didn’t see her actually do anything.”
“Stop calling me that. Now, how did you know she was a witch?”
“Big hat.”
“I see.” I didn’t bother writing any of this down. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome, ‘quisitor.”
I walked away as he began filling in the grave.
After sunfall.
The head groundskeeper for the cemetery bid me farewell and went to bed. I had been in his house for the last hour, drinking tea and eating a delicious cake he’d baked. The whole time he told me stories about the town. Gave me a few leads for cases. Now, I was in his spare bedroom, watching the cemetery intently from the bay window.
There was very little happening. I did see a fox run through the rows and over the fence at one point. It was thirty minutes into my watch when I saw what I could only describe as ‘a big hat’. The ‘big hat’ looked around for a moment, and then looked toward the house. I assume they saw me, because they walked off in the direction they came.
I opened the window and slipped out, down to the ground. The spot where they were standing was the place I was looking first.
On the ground were footprints, smaller than mine. I ran my hand through the dirt when a bright light lit up behind me. I assumed it was the groundskeeper, coming to scold me for leaving his window open.
“Don’t move.” It was a woman’s voice.
Disobeying the order, the very thing that got me here in the first place, I turned around. There was a woman, my height, holding a massive fireball in her hands. I knew a little about magic, not much, but a little. That looked bigger than the fireballs Marta was slinging.
“Are you the witch?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter, because if you move, there’ll be nothing left of you.”
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