DoubleChecker

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Madam Cask looked at Elora for a long, still moment.

There it was. The one that put a name on the board.

The ledger under her arm shifted slightly as her fingers tightened around it. Mr. Orven looked at the polished floor as if suddenly fascinated by the grain.

“Carriage fourteen was received at the late return desk by Milo Wick,” Cask said at last. “Night clerk. Licensed handler. Three years with Brass Lantern.”

Piero’s smile crept back by a fraction. “And where is dear Milo now?”

“That,” Cask replied, voice cool, “was not the question.”

Gears made a sound halfway between a laugh and a growl.

Madam Cask opened the ledger, turned one page, then another. “But since I would hate for Mr. Lanza to accuse my company of obstruction, I will add this. Mr. Wick failed to report for his morning shift. His room above the south carriage house was empty when checked. His work coat was gone. His personal effects were not.”

The lobby seemed to grow quieter around that.

Orven swallowed.

Cask closed the ledger with a soft snap. “So either my employee has embarrassed this company in connection with your employer’s problem, or someone has gone to considerable effort to make it appear so.”

Piero adjusted his tie. “See? That was painless.”

“It was not,” Cask said.

Gears cracked her gauntleted knuckles once. “South carriage house?”

Cask’s eyes narrowed. “You may inspect his room with one of my men present. You will not harass my staff, damage my property, or turn my business into a Calabrese circus.”

Piero gave her a pleasant smile. “No promises about the circus.”

Madam Cask did not lead them herself. That would have been too generous. Instead, she summoned the broad man from near the inner hall, a square-jawed employee with the dead-eyed patience of professional security.

“Havel,” she said. “South carriage house. Mr. Wick’s room. They look. They do not take souvenirs.”

Gears smiled at that.

“No promises if the souvenir confesses.”

---

To Milo's Room

The south carriage house sat behind the main office, past a gated yard where polished coaches rested in neat rows beneath hanging lamps. Brass Lantern’s wealth continued here too, but it had a working face now. Oil stains. Wheel tracks. Harness racks. The warm smell of horses, waxed leather, and varnished wood. Several employees watched the group pass and then suddenly discovered urgent reasons to look elsewhere.

Milo Wick’s room was up a narrow stair over the carriage bays. Small. Plain. Too tidy at first glance.

A narrow bed sat against one wall, blanket folded with clerkish precision. A washbasin stood beneath the window, its water faintly cloudy. A cheap shaving mirror hung above it. Beside the bed was a small writing desk with an inkpot, two dull pens, and a stack of copied carriage forms. One drawer had been left half-open. Inside were stockings, loose buttons, and a little pouch of copper coins that had not been taken.

The room did not look ransacked.

It looked interrupted.

A hook near the door was empty except for one torn black thread caught on the wood. A work schedule had been pinned to the wall, with Milo Wick’s name marked for the late return desk the previous night. On the floor beneath the basin, pale dried clay clung in small flakes to the boards. Near the stove, a twist of half-burned paper sat among the ashes, its edge darkened but not destroyed.

On the desk, one copied form had been pressed hard enough that the sheet beneath it still carried faint grooves from the writing above.

Havel folded his arms by the door.

“You have your look,” he said. “Try not to make me regret giving it.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Madam Cask’s eyes settled on Marcus first, and for a moment she seemed to weigh whether his politeness was more irritating than Hwicce’s insolence. Politeness won by a hair.

“Carriage fourteen was returned with no declared belongings left inside,” she said. “Unofficially, there were irregularities. The rear floor mat was missing. The curtains had been wiped down. One inner latch was scratched, and there was pale clay packed into the wheel rim. Not street mud. Service-road clay.”

Piero’s gaze sharpened. “Undertrack roads.”

Cask did not deny it.

Then Hwicce leaned in, all grin and deliberate disrespect. The clerk flinched slightly at “pencil pusher,”.

Her attention returned to Hwicce. “As for Mr. Bell, there is very little to give you. Which is the point. Tall. Dark coat. Pale gloves. Hat low. Voice roughened, perhaps intentionally. He paid cash and knew exactly which paperwork to request. He did not behave like a first-time client.”

Gears’ gauntlet gave a soft click.

“So he knew your house rules.”

“He knew enough,” Cask replied.

Piero smiled thinly. “And the third companion?”

For the first time, Madam Cask’s poise shifted. Barely, but enough.

“The person who remained inside the carriage was veiled. Smaller build. Did not speak. Mr. Bell insisted they were unwell and not to be disturbed.”

Gears exhaled through her teeth. “Convenient.”

Cask folded her hands over the ledger.

“You have one question left. I suggest making it more useful than clever.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

"Three more questions, eh? Ain't you really generous?" Hwicce raised a single eyebrow, his attention fully focused on Madam Velora Cask. He would approach the counter, one arm splayed over it for support as he leaned forward towards the woman. "Since my colleague over there asked the first question, let me ask the second one."

His gaze wandered towards 'Mr. Oven' as he spoke next. "We would like to know more about this Mr. Bell..." His attention slowly drifted towards the woman once more, the smirk on his lips never disappearing. "... without the bullshit that pencil pusher of yours fed us when we asked the first time. Think you can do that, miss..." He stopped for a moment, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember something: her name. "... lady Cask?"

[Aslan - The Grand Duchy] The Starry Entrance

Equipped Titles: [Isekai], [Human], [Adept Magus], [Ethereal Luminary Academy Student] F, [Magno Sapiente Victori - Grand Magus S] E, Narrative Booster [Arcane Seeker] S, Connected [House Ashford] F, [El-Melloi's Scion] - 0054a6

Adelhein watched the approaching constructs with a detached expression on his face. Both arms crossed above his chest, one gloved index tapping against his own biceps. "You two might want to get prepared to fight them." The young magus suggested it, not moving from where he stood. "Being capable of combat is expected within the Ethereal Luminary. While it is not a place that trains battle mages, arcanic might is assumed by default. I, myself, was issued a duel during my own entrance exam."

With that, he fell silent, returning to his role as an observer.

[Aslan - The Grand Duchy] The Starry Entrance

Sa’Saori’s warning settled into the chamber with the weight of caution, but the dueling floor gave its answer almost immediately. The moment the Magenta group drew back toward the southern edge, the crystal passage behind them sealed with a smooth curtain of pale light. It did not slam shut. It simply ceased to be an exit, as politely and absolutely as a door being locked by the room itself.

A low tone passed through the circular arena. The runes along the raised rings brightened in sequence, first at the center, then outward toward the alcoves and pylons. The four guardians did not react to spellcasting. They reacted to presence. Their heads turned toward the group as one, and a calm feminine voice, neither Roffimières nor anyone visible, sounded from the chamber walls.

“Cohort Magenta. Combat evaluation initiated. Lethality restricted. Tactical adaptation permitted.”

The constructs moved.

Guardian One and Guardian Two stepped down from the northern ring in perfect mirrored motion, their arms unfolding into long, lacquered forearm blades of condensed light. They advanced along the central lane, not rushing, but covering ground with disciplined precision. Guardian Three and Guardian Four remained slightly behind them, spreading apart to either side of the runic center. The light channels beneath their feet flared as they moved, and thin geometric shields formed briefly around their torsos before fading into a faint protective shimmer.

The chamber’s layout became clearer now that it was awake. The outer walkway remained open, offering room to circle toward the alcoves. The crystal pylons along the edges hummed softly, their glow strengthening whenever a guardian passed near one. The central runic circle pulsed in regular intervals, as if marking the rhythm of the trial itself.

The guardians had not struck yet.

But the next exchange would begin with them in motion, closing the distance while their rear pair held the center.

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

The clerk’s expression pinched at Elora’s words, then curdled further when Hwicce invited the voice forward like a tavern entertainer. For a moment, he looked less like a company man and more like someone who had just watched a lit match drift toward spilled oil.

From the inner hall came the sharp strike of shoes on polished floor.

The woman who appeared was dressed in dark plum silk beneath a tailored riding coat, with silver at her throat and a ledger tucked under one arm like a weapon she had learned to use long ago. She was not armed in any obvious way. She did not need to be. The clerks straightened when they saw her. The guards became still.

Piero’s smile cooled.

“Madam Velora Cask,” he said. “Brass Lantern’s managing director. How unfortunate.”

“Mr. Lanza,” she replied, eyes sliding over him with surgical disinterest. “I was about to say the same.”

Gears leaned toward Marcus, voice low. “That means they hate each other politely.”

Madam Cask’s attention settled on Elora next, then the faceplate. “Carriage fourteen is company property. If it was found damaged, Brass Lantern appreciates its return. If you are here on behalf of Don Calabrese, then I assume this is not about scratches in brass.”

The clerk looked as though he wanted to disappear into his own collar.

Cask noticed. “Mr. Orven has answered enough in public.”

Her gaze moved to Hwicce’s smile, lingered just long enough to acknowledge the danger behind it, then returned to the group as a whole.

“You may ask three more questions before I decide this conversation requires attorneys, invoices, or men with less patience than mine.”

Piero’s jaw tightened.

Gears grinned.

“Three questions,” she murmured. “How generous. I was hoping for three teeth.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

"Oh, look at that, seems like someone wants to have a little chat. Call them over, will you?" Hwicce told the clerk, taking one step back with a shit-eating grin splattered across his face. And, while his hazel eyes were kept trained on the clerk, he made sure to keep an eye on the four he had identified through his peripheral vision. The hand on his back never leaving the handle of the concealed dagger.

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

The clerk did not appreciate Elora’s implication, which was precisely why it landed. His jaw tightened just enough to show the hit, though his voice stayed polished. “Brass Lantern does not release vehicles irresponsibly,” he said. “Mr. Bell paid for privacy, after hours service, and the waiver for self return. That is unusual, but not forbidden.”

“Unusual,” Gears echoed. “Like a brick through a wedding cake.”

Marcus pressed before the man could recover his balance. The question drew a pause. A real one this time.

“No,” the clerk admitted. “There were two with him at pickup. One drove. One remained inside the carriage. At return, only the driver was seen.” He hesitated again, eyes flicking once toward the counter staff. “Mr. Bell himself was described as tall, pale gloves, dark coat, hat low over the face. Deliberately forgettable.”

Elora’s suggestion of internal help hung over the polished lobby like a draft. The clerk disliked it, but not enough to deny it outright. “The coach was returned late. Inspected in dim light. If someone was careless, I will discover who.”

Hwicce, meanwhile, took stock of the room. Two front guards outside, one heavier man pretending to sort ledgers behind the far desk, and another near the inner hall who stood too straight to be ordinary staff. Brass Lantern’s muscle wore vests instead of coats, but it was muscle all the same. Not a war party. Enough to make trouble costly.

Then, from somewhere deeper in the building, a raised voice snapped through the calm.

“What do you mean fourteen is being discussed in the lobby?”

Piero’s smile returned at once.

“Well,” he murmured, “that sounds promising.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

The information revealed by the clerk so far felt certainly underwhelming to the mercenary. But with both Elora and Marcus pressing the clerk for more information, Hwicce's attention shifted elsewhere: to their surroundings. He began watching those around them, trying to do a headcount of who he thought could pose 'physical resistance' or danger if things turned south.

Actions:
1 - Using Street Sense F to try and identify possible fighters within the lobby.

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Marcus’s smile did not convince anyone that he was harmless, but it did something more useful. It sounded reasonable. Hwicce’s addition, meanwhile, carried just enough velvet over the knife to make the point plain.

The clerk’s eyes moved between them, then to the faceplate in Elora’s hand, then briefly to Piero and Gears. That last look was the telling one. Not surprise. Recognition. Calculation.

“One of our coaches being damaged on Calabrese ground would indeed qualify as a moderate problem,” he said at last. “Though records of private bookings are not discussed on the pavement.”

“Cute,” Gears muttered.

The guard with the cigarette shifted his stance. Not reaching. Just reminding everyone he could.

Hwicce’s read on the man was immediate enough. The clerk knew something about carriage fourteen already. Not everything, perhaps, but enough that this was no ordinary found-property conversation anymore.

Piero smiled the way a silk noose might. “Then let us save your pavement the indignity.”

For a moment it looked as though the clerk might refuse on principle alone. Then his gaze flicked once toward the smoked windows behind him, as if measuring who inside might prefer this handled quietly. He stepped aside.

“Very well. Briefly.”

As the doors opened, cool perfumed air spilled out to meet them. Brass Lantern’s lobby was all polished black wood, brass trim, and quiet money. Clerks moved behind a long counter with the forced calm of people who had already noticed trouble and were pretending not to.

The man stopped just inside and turned back to them. “Carriage fourteen was leased last night under a private name. Paid in cash. No company rider requested.”

Piero’s smile thinned.

“And the name?”

The clerk hesitated only a fraction too long.

“Mr. Bell,” he said.

Gears snorted.

“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds fake enough to be expensive.”