DoubleChecker

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Havel stared at the notes for a long moment, then at the wax, then at the coins left behind on the desk. Whatever loyalty he had to Brass Lantern seemed to be fighting a losing battle against the obvious.

“Milo Wick,” he said at last, voice low. “Thin. Brown hair. Sharp nose. Usually clean shaven. Walks with his left shoulder a little higher than the right. Old carriage injury. He wears spectacles when writing, but not on the floor. Nervous man. Talks too fast when cornered.”

Gears snorted. “Sounds like he’s gonna talk plenty, then.”

Havel’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue.

As they moved back down through the carriage house, Marcus caught the first flicker of familiar movement near the wall. One Haunter drifted after him, then another, then two more, all returning from their scattered errands with the solemn urgency of children reporting a fire they only half understood.

Their reports came in pieces. One had found the coach with the missing faceplate. It smelled “like flowers, wet dirt, and angry kicking.” Another had listened to stablehands whispering that carriage fourteen was “the one with the sick passenger who cursed through the curtains.” A third insisted someone inside had said “Bell went under the arch where the red lantern is broken.” The last proudly reported that “the quiet clerk was not quiet after all,” and that Milo had been seen heading for Cinder Arch before dawn.

Outside, the polished calm of Brass Lantern gave way to the district’s colder service streets. Ahead, beneath the glittering race avenues, the road sloped toward the old undertrack passages of Cinder Arch.

---

Into the Cinder Arch

The road down toward Cinder Arch sloped beneath the brighter avenues of the racing district, leaving behind polished storefronts and lantern-lit marquees for damp stone, soot-dark brick, and the echo of distant wheels overhead. The city above celebrated speed. The city below existed to make that celebration possible without being seen.

Old service tunnels opened beneath the streets in broad arched passages, once used to move feed, tack, coaches, and injured racers between track grounds without clogging the public roads. Now half of them had been bought, rented, forgotten, or quietly claimed by people who preferred their business one level beneath respectable notice.

The arch itself was easy enough to recognize. A massive curve of blackened stone bridged the road ahead, its name carved into the lintel in worn letters. Beneath it, one red lantern still burned dimly. The other hung shattered and crooked, its remaining panes catching the light like bloodied teeth.

Beyond the arch lay a small pocket of service yards and shuttered storehouses. Most doors were closed. One old betting office had its windows boarded. A coach shed leaned against the tunnel wall, its painted sign peeled down to ghosts of lettering. Fresh wheel marks scored the pale clay near the road’s edge, turning sharply toward a narrow side lane half-hidden behind stacked crates.

There were other signs too. A scrap of expensive black fabric snagged against one crate corner. A boot print overlapping the carriage tracks, narrower than Havel’s description of Milo would suggest. A faint smear of blue silk thread caught on a splinter near a side door. And, somewhere deeper within the lane, muffled but unmistakable, came the sound of raised voices.

One was nervous, quick, and male.

The other was sharper, angrier, and very much not afraid.

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

"I doubt that it was Bell himself. Those who pay don't get their hands dirty." Hwicce murmured, looking at the fine material a bit closer, before motioning towards all of them. "An uniform so he can enter somewhere where he otherwise wouldn't be able to. Maybe that it was..."

He then waited for a moment longer, hoping that the grunt who followed them wouldn't be so thick as to not give them the description of his missing fellow worker before being ready to tread on to the next place.

[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 let out a haughty scoff upon hearing Alicia's words directly into his mind. "Barbaric? Oh, you don't even know the beginning of it. But I suppose it is a way to separate the wheat from the chaff." He wasn't, however, discounting what she said. He followed her movement by the corner of his eyes.

He watched as the fireball from Sa'Saori hit and spilled against two of the constructs, the mechanoids leaving without a scratch. His crimson orbs would only narrow with how the constructs were maneuvering right in the middle of the room, showing hesitation towards him. The index kept tapping methodically against his biceps, observing the developments with quiet intensity.

[Aslan - The Grand Duchy] The Starry Entrance

OOC info: Sa'Saori moving and using magic without either Focus or Componentless, would have made her spell fizzle (I'm waiving this penalty). Since we don't work with reactions or prepared actions in IH, her 3rd action is a miss.

Sa’Saori’s fireball bloomed across the right side of the arena in a fierce wash of heat and light, but the constructs answered with practiced precision. Guardian Two met the spell behind its shimmering ward, the barrier flashing bright as it swallowed the brunt of the blast without leaving so much as a scorch upon its lacquered frame. Guardian Four moved at the instant of detonation, slipping clear along the outer ring with mechanical grace before the flames could properly catch it.

The guardians adjusted as one. Guardian One advanced toward the southern half of the central floor, while Guardian Three shifted to hold the left side of the arena. Guardian Four angled along the outer edge, its attention turning sharply toward Alicia’s position near the pylon. Guardian Two closed on Sa’Saori directly, its forearm blade extending in a clean arc of condensed light as it drew back for a strike. [Incoming 2d4-1 (meaning I will roll 2 dices of 1-to-4 and subtract 1 from the result) against Sa'Saori]

At the pylon, Alicia found more than decoration. Beneath the crystal crown, threads of mana coursed through layered runes and sank into the glowing channels beneath the floor. The structure was not commanding the constructs outright, but it was tied to the arena’s enchantments. Its signature pulsed in rhythm with the ward that had protected Guardian Two, and the flow briefly intensified whenever one of the guardians crossed near a pylon or along the adjoining light-veins.

There were seams in the enchantment, too. Several small sigils near the base flared and dimmed in sequence, suggesting the pylon’s output could be disrupted, redirected, or perhaps temporarily suppressed with the right interference.

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

The room gave up its secrets reluctantly, but it gave them.

The pouch held only a modest handful of coins. Not enough to matter to Brass Lantern, but enough that a clerk who meant to flee would likely have taken it. Havel watched Elora check it with narrowed eyes, but said nothing when it was put back.

The basin proved fouler than it first looked. When Marcus dipped his hand into the cloudy water, his fingers brushed the bottom and came up with pale grit clinging to the skin. Clay. The same color as the flakes on the floor. Beneath it, caught against the drain, was a small sliver of dark wax stamped with the edge of a broken seal.

Piero leaned closer. “Not company wax.”

At the stove, Elora recovered what remained of the burned paper. Most of it was ash, but a few words survived along the folded edge.

...fourteen returned...
...mat disposed...
...Wick paid after...

Gears let out a low whistle. “That’s ugly.”

Hwicce’s black thread, once held to the light, showed a faint sheen. Not wool. Finer. Torn from some expensive coat or veil, perhaps the same sort worn by people who paid extra to leave no name behind.

Then Marcus worked charcoal over the indented form. Slowly, crookedly, the pressure marks surfaced.

No questions. No clerk talk. South service route. Bell pays second half at Cinder Arch.

For the first time, Havel’s professional stillness cracked.

“Milo, you idiot,” he muttered.

Piero smiled without warmth.

“Cinder Arch,” he said. “That is undertrack territory. Service roads, old race tunnels, private doors, bad lighting.”

Gears flexed her gauntlets.

“Finally,” she said. “A place with manners I understand.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

"That was some progress. Quite a bit of it, in fact. Nice work." Hwicce believed in giving credit where it was due. Inside Milo's room, his eyes darted around quickly to the state of it. He let out a long hum, catching the lonely black thread stuck behind the door. "I guess he could have been yanked outta the room and forced somewhere else." The mercenary grabbed the thread, bringing it right in front of his eyes.

"Even in desperation, those who work for a living don't go around 'forgetting' their coins." Agreeing with Elora, he looked at the paper Marcus had found. "So, what does it say?" He wondered.

[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.