The Irritable Inquisitor and the Weary Witch - Chapter 2

 

Elves & Fairies by Ida Rentoul Outhwaite. 1st edition, Lothian, 1916

“It doesn’t matter, because if you move, there’ll be nothing left of you.” The witch was rotating a huge fireball in her palms.

“Listen to me, I’m an inquisitor with the royal knights.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the fireball flared up even brighter. “...and I’m not here for you. Not unless you’re the one robbing graves.”

“Are you saying that’s not you?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

    The fireball died down to a little flame that burned from her fingertip. “So talk.” She rested her left hand on her hip, keeping the flame aloft.

“Talk? Unless you have a lead, you have nothing to do with this case, so you should leave.”

“Listen, inquisitor…” she spit on the ground. “I want to stop this as much as you do.”

    I stood up. “I’m going to stand over here, and I’m going to keep my hand on my hilt.”

“Do what you want.”

“If you aren’t here to rob graves, are you investigating the robberies yourself?”

    She scowled at me. “Move over.” She waved me away.

    Without taking my eyes off her, I backed away from the spot. She bent down and drew something in the soil with her finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Quiet.” The soil began to glow. After a moment she sighed and stood up. “That way.” She pointed towards town. In her hand was a jagged stone, hovering just millimeters above her palm. It slowly rotated back and forth, but clearly pointing in a general direction.

“Okay, give it to me,” I said, holding out my hand.

    She scowled at the idea. “Are you joking? Even if I could… no way.”

“Then lead the way.”

    She frowned, but started walking towards town. The lamps had been lit for the night, so the cobblestone glowed a warm glow. There was the occasional drunk stumbling out of a bar or tripping over a wooden bollard.

    We reached an intersection, and the stone pointed left, so that’s the way we went. Further up the street was a group of five men, three of which were harassing the other two. When we got closer, I could hear them talking.

“...should’ve died in Norta.”

“...isn’t room for you here.”

    Oh, they were harassing a pair of Nortan refugees. The Witch had stopped walking, and was watching me intently, a wry smile on her face. Was she expecting me to do nothing?

    She was right, this wasn’t what I was here for. I pushed past the men, heading toward where the stone had been pointing. A hand grabbed my shoulder, I turned to look at them, fist cocked.

    I looked right into the eyes of a terrified man. Eyes I was all too familiar with. I looked at the closest of the harassers.

“What?” He asked.

“Go home,” was all I said.

“Why? This isn’t your business.”

“I’m an inquisitor with the royal knights. If you want me to get the guards down here and file a report, I will.”

“Fine, we’re going.” He turned to the other two. “Come on.” They went, hopefully, home.

    The taller of the refugees took a deep breath. He leaned up against the wall and bowed to me.

“Don’t do that.” I said.

“Thank you so much, ma’am,” he responded.

“You’re welcome, but please don’t call me that.”

“Oh, what should I call you then?”

“Anna, it’s my name.” I looked over at the witch. She hadn’t moved, but the smile was gone.

“Inquisitor Anna? You said you were an inquisitor, correct?”

“Yes, I am.”

“If we need help, can we count on you?”

“I…” I paused, not knowing what to say. I didn’t know how long I would be in town, I didn’t know how long this grave robbing case was going to take. So, I said what I thought, at the time, was a lie. “Yes, you can.” It would end up not being a lie.

“Thank you,” he grabbed the arm of the other man. “Hopefully we’ll see you around, Anna.”

“Hopefully.”

    I watched them walk away.

“Ready to move on?” The witch asked.

“I am.” We walked further down the street, until the stone rotated to the right. The witch didn’t notice though, she was looking forward. “It turned.”

“What?” She checked the stone. It was pointing directly to the right. Directly at a door. She walked back a few feet, and it remained pointed at that door. “I think we found it.”

“Let’s see…” I took note of the street, and of the house number. “Okay, got it.”

“So, let’s bust in there.”

“That’s not the plan.”

“What? What’s the plan then?”

“We’re going to wait here, and see if anyone leaves, and we follow them. If they go to the cemetery, it may as well be a smoking musket.”

“That’s the proper procedure, then?”

“That’s right.”

    She sighed. “Okay then.”

“Anyway, goodbye.” I leaned against the wall. “Thank you for the help.”

“Are you joking?” She tossed the stone on the ground. “I already told you, I’m stopping this too.”

“I don’t need you. I have it covered.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

    I sighed. I wasn’t too terribly interested in the help of a witch. “Fine, then when someone leaves, I’ll follow them, and you stay here. When they come back, I’ll… we’ll apprehend them.”

I turned to walk past a dark alley. Then, from my left…

"Hmm?"

I threw my hands up to block what I thought was a club. It wasn't a club. It was an ax.

Luckily? It just missed me. I caught his arm as it was coming down for another swing. God's be damned, I wasn't built for combat. In a real city I'd have fifteen guardsmen coming down on us in seconds.

I struggled against the burly man. My fingers reached desperately for his eyes. I wanted to claw them out, or crush them with my thumbs.

"Anna!" An impossibly bright light lit up the street, and exploded just in front of me. A blast of hot heat erupting in my face. The man who I was struggling with was going up in flames. I stumbled backward and watched as he burned.

I wanted to help, I wanted to swear, but I was too shocked, looking at the fire burning.

"Fire!" Someone shouted from an open window. "Fire!"

Within a minute a group carrying buckets had come by and doused the man. He wasn't moving.

"Uh, Inquisitor?" The witch had grabbed my wrist. "Your finger is gone."

"I'll be damned." The tip, the last phalange of my left pinky. It was gone, and blood was streaming down my arm. "Would you look at that."

A man in a white apron approached me from the crowd that had gathered. He immediately pulled out a cloth and put pressure on my finger.

"You're the Inquisitor everyone's talking about?"

"I am."

"Dr. Whitlow." He went to shake my hand but he only had his left hand open. "It doesn't matter." He looked at the witch, and then back at me. “Please, come to my practice, I’d like to get you bandaged up.”

“I won’t be able to pay you.”

“You won’t have to.”