Blood Money - 19. Seven's Sawmill

“It’s boarded up?”
Arlo stared at the townhouse in the waning afternoon light. Trees rustled in a light breeze, shaking leaves onto a flagstone path that led around the back of the building.
More concerningly, boards covered every window, blocking out any view within.
“I didn’t tell anyone Foxglove was dead. Did you?” Arlo asked, glancing at Coradiel.
“No,” the paladin said, fiddling with a set of keys. “I got these off his body though-”
“When did you do that?”
“I had plenty of time to explore the basement when you were burying Kaesi,” Coradiel pointed out, picking out a key.
“I never even noticed. You just let me do all that work while you wandered off?!”
“And got us the keys we needed.”
Coradiel fitted the key into the front door. It clicked quietly, and the door pushed open with a quiet creak.
Darkness filled the interior. A murmured [Light] spell removed the shadows from the room. It looked just as Arlo remembered: a large mahogany table took up most of the entry hall, allowing the hall to double as a dining room. The walls were still barren, the room still empty save for the table and chairs set around it.
“Oh!”
A sudden squeak drew their attention. The two went slackjawed.
Iesha Foxglove stood in a doorway, a flower vase in her hands. Her lustrous hair swept around her shoulders, held back by a red and gold band that made Arlo shiver. Deep brown eyes stared at the two, a small mouth open in surprise.
“Dear, we have guests,” she called over her shoulder. “Forgive me if this seems impertinent, but however did you two get inside? I could have sworn the door was locked.”
“Aldern allowed me a key so I could visit,” Coradiel said smoothly. “Please forgive us, we were not aware that we were unwelcome.”
“Oh, not at all,” Iesha said with a warm smile. “We were just about to sit for dinner. Please, feel free to join us.”
She motioned toward the table. Arlo set a hand to the back of a chair, his eyes still glued to Iesha.
“Ah, Arlo, Coradiel.” Aldern appeared in the doorway, a bright smile on his face. “How wonderful to see you two. Please, sit. Dinner should be ready shortly.”
None of this was adding up. Arlo certainly couldn’t smell any food cooking. And why was the room dark when they entered? The windows were boarded up. They’d seen Iesha’s revenant kill Aldern. She’d even screamed his name — that was not a mistake such a creature would make. And most damning of all….
“Hey Aldern, how’s the restoration going at your manor?” Arlo asked cheerfully.
“Oh, it’s a mess at the moment. We’ve got crews of labourers trying to set things to rights-”
Arlo swung his musket around.
“[Scorching Ray]!”
“Arlo!”
Aldern screamed as fire punched into his chest. He dropped like a stone, and Arlo turned on Iesha.
“Who are you?!” he snarled.
“Arlo!” Coradiel yelled, rushing toward Aldern. “You can’t just shoot people you don’t like!”
“I can when they’re imposters. Iesha was a revenant and she called Aldern out as her murderer.” Arlo kept his musket on Iesha as Coradiel knelt beside Aldern. “Don’t touch him! He’s not real!”
“Not real? How can you say that? You just broke in here and murdered the love of my life!” Iesha shrieked.
The vase in her hand flew suddenly, crashing into Coradiel’s head. The paladin yelped, scrambling away from Aldern. He unsheathed his estoc, pointing toward Iesha warily.
“Out! Get out of here before I call the guards!”
“Another slip. You should be calling the guards anyway,” Arlo pointed out. “Or do you expect to deal with-”
Iesha was in front of him suddenly, her fist swinging. It connected, and Arlo went flying back. He crashed into the door, groaning as he slid to the floor.
“Coradiel… [Mage Armour]. Give them hell for me,” the amurrun coughed out.
His hit points hovered around thirty — that had been a nasty hit. Lifting his musket again, Arlo coughed out, “[Burning Arc]!”
His spell shot through the air, slamming into Iesha before barrelling into Aldern on the floor. The two screamed, and Aldern’s body melted, taking on a vaguely humanoid shape. Skin turned to bare muscle, and eyes vanished, leaving dark holes where they should have been.
Iesha screamed. Charging toward Arlo, she was stopped by Coradiel, narrowly avoiding getting stuck by his estoc.
“Who are you?!” the paladin demanded.
“Please don’t kill me!” Iesha begged, dropping to her knees. “We were hired to guard this place! He didn’t tell us why!”
“Who?!” Arlo snapped.
“I don’t know his name… we were told to obey him by Lady Xanesha!”
“And who is that?”
“Our mistress. A lamia. She lives in the Shadow Clock in Underbridge.”
“What do you know of Karzoug?” Coradiel turned to Arlo, a questioning look in his eyes, but Arlo stuck to the question. “Why are people being sacrificed to him?”
“I… I don’t know who that is!”
“She’s telling the truth,” Coradiel said. “And we should get out of here before someone comes to investigate all this noise.”
“We’re not finished here,” Arlo denied. “They were hiding here for a reason. Someone knew we were coming here.”
“Even more reason why we shouldn’t be here,” Coradiel pointed out.
Arlo pulled out his spellbook, flipping through it. “Tie her up,” he said a moment later. “We’ll have the guards collect her when we’ve found what we needed here. And if she tries anything… there’s an aberration laying dead on the floor. She can try explaining that one to the guards.”
Stepping further into the house, Arlo muttered, “[Detect Secret Doors]”.
The townhouse wasn’t that large. Arlo went from room to room, climbing upstairs, scanning every which way, searching for any sign that the place was not as innocuous as it appeared.
And a glow appeared.
On the second floor, on the fireplace mantle within a large sitting room, a pair of roaring lions sat. The one on the left glowed with a faint magic, and Arlo took a minute to search around the creature. There had to be a compartment hidden by the lion; he just needed to figure out-
There! A tiny keyhole in the back of the lion’s throat. Trust Aldern to force a lion to gag on a key to unlock… whatever they were unlocking. Arlo had a more eloquent solution. Sure, he could go downstairs and ask for a key, but why bother?
Flipping through his book, the amurrun held out a hand. “[Knock].”
And with a click, the lion slid aside, revealing a large compartment in the mantle filled with a small money pouch and a stack of papers detailing the ownership of the townhouse. Searching through the parchments found another document — the deed to Foxglove Manor, owned by Vorel Foxglove and his descendants, to be passed to the Brothers of the Seven upon 100 years of the signing of the deed.
Arlo sighed. So much for owning a spooky mansion by the sea. But the Brothers of the Seven….
A thin ledger sat at the bottom of the papers. Scanning through it, Arlo’s stomach soured. Aldern had been paying these “Brothers” 200 gold a week, to be delivered to the Seven’s Sawmill every Oathday, for Iesha’s business trip to Absalom.
“Seven’s Sawmill….” He knew where that was. Arlo wasn’t sure how he knew, but at this point, he knew better than to question it. Kyver’s Inlet. That was where they needed to go.

- - -

Maybe he was being paranoid. But traipsing through a city full of Pharasmin clergy who could strike at any time did not seem like the best idea to Coradiel. He’d never had a problem with the Lady of Graves before. But now his lover was threatened by her, and the paladin was seeing threats everywhere. The sooner they escaped this city, the better.
It pained him to think like that. Magnimar was his home. He’d spent his entire life here. But the pain of losing Arlo was worse. So much worse.
So he rode through the city that had once been his home. He followed the amurrun who had led him to ruin and despair. He crossed the bridge to Kyver’s Inlet, putting his trust in Arlo once again. Coradiel didn’t know what the Seven’s Sawmill had to do with Xanesha, but the mage seemed to know what he was doing.
“Shouldn’t we be heading to the Underbridge?” Coradiel called as they approached the sawmill.
The southern tip of the city hung in the backdrop, silent under the thunderous creaking of waterwheels. Across another bridge, a guardhouse could be seen, dutifully watching over the city.
“That’s our next stop,” Arlo replied, coming to a stop beside the Seven’s Sawmill.
Built over the Yondabakari River, the sawmill sat atop massive wooden pilings driven deep into the riverbed below. A wooden walkway wrapped around the northern end of the mill, and a set of stairs to the east led down to a door just above water level. Coradiel wasn’t an engineer or an architect, but it seemed poor design. What if the river flooded?
“So what’s the plan? We can’t just storm the place,” he pointed out, dismounting beside Arlo.
“How averse are you to a little arson?” Arlo asked with a grin.
“Very. Why?”
“Because if I use my musket in there, or if I cast the wrong spell, the dust in that sawmill is going to explode. And I’d rather be well away from it before that happens. I could take a potshot through an open window from a few dozen yards away, and that would take care of our little cult in there.”
“And that will bring every single guard in Magnimar down on our heads.” Coradiel shook his head. “Can’t we just talk to whoever’s in there?”
“Oh, sure, and ask them, hey, have you been doing anything evil in there?” Arlo flipped through his spellbook. “I have a Tier 0 frost spell that shouldn’t ignite the air and make us go boom. And [Ray of Enfeeblement] and [Blindness] and [Deafness]...”
“Alright, before we go in there striking people deaf and blind, mind telling me why we are here and not at the clock tower?”
“Because… um… because…” Arlo frowned. “Huh. I mean… this sawmill was named in a scheme to hide Iesha’s death. Isn’t that probable cause? I mean, we were deputised by Sheriff Belor after all.”
“That only works in Sandpoint,” Coradiel pointed out. “We haven’t been deputised in Magnimar, and as such, any damages suffered to the city or its people will be solely our responsibility.”
“Okay, what about this. You’re a paladin. You can sense evil in people. So you go in, tell me if the people inside are evil-”
“That certainly would not stand in a court of law.”
“And here I thought we were dealing with hangtown law,” Arlo muttered. “Alright, fine. I’ll get the evidence we need, and then we’ll torch the place.”
He darted for the ramp.
“Arlo!” Coradiel hissed, watching the amurrun vanish. Literally vanish into thin air. Blasted catfolk must have an invisibility spell. It would do little good if people saw prints appearing in sawdust, or doors opening on their own.
He raced after Arlo, lunging for the door. It opened on its own, and Coradiel barged through it. The paladin heard a curse from the amurrun.
The undermill was a place of noise and mist. Four massive wheels turned laboriously in the middle of the room, pushed along by the river below. The grinding of machinery flooded the air; no one would notice any sort of fighting within — or the sounds of a sneaky amurrun tiptoeing through the building. Arlo would be relatively safe. Even now, Coradiel had no idea where he was, even though he knew Arlo was here.
“Excuse me, sir.” A man with a large smile plastered on his face approached Coradiel, flanked by a couple of mill workers. “I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. As you can see, this room is not very safe for visitors. If you need assistance, you can talk to the mill’s manager.”
“Of course,” Coradiel said with a tiny bow. “My apologies, good sirs. I will leave at once.”
He turned for the door, passing through it quickly. His heart thundered as the door closed and locked behind him. Arlo was on his own now.

- - -

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Wandering in here like he owns the place!”
“I still say we should have killed him! Father Skinsaw dropped him in our lap so perfectly!!”
Arlo crept through the misty air, stepping carefully through the machinery as he worked to avoid the cultists. The levers here seemed to be irrevocably rusted away, preventing the water wheels from ever stopping. Which meant they couldn’t be maintained, which meant this mill was a ticking time bomb. He didn’t want to be in here any longer than necessary.
The stairs leading up were rickety, ill-kept. They creaked with every step — it was only due to the thunder of the water wheels that no one heard Arlo’s ascent. Still, he froze at the top of the stairs, craning his ears for any sign he’d been caught out.
But he couldn’t stay for long. Arlo had seven minutes to find what he was looking for and get out before his spell wore off.
The ground floor was still beyond noisy. It consisted entirely of a loading area, complete with two large wagons against the south wall. A halfling waved her hand about, magically steering levitating logs around the room. She didn’t seem to be one of the cultists; this person was actually working.
Arlo let her be, creeping across the room to the next flight of stairs. A muffled [Forced Quiet] spell kept the steps from creaking under him, and Arlo emerged onto a landing that immediately led up another floor.
He waved his hand at a door.
“[Knock].”
The door swung open on creaky hinges, and Arlo winced.
“Hello?” A head stuck out the entrance, peering around cautiously. “Who’s there?”
Arlo remained motionless. A moment later, the man retreated, and Arlo let out the breath he’d be holding. The door closed again, and the amurrun frowned. Fine. He’d save that room for last.
Heading up the last flight of stairs, Arlo emerged into a large workshop. Thick sawdust filled this room — Arlo estimated it at nearly a foot deep in places. No problem, he’d just fly over the dust — he’d gotten plenty of practice hiding in the Misgivings. Workbenches scattered around the room, with saws and other assorted tools laying about on them.
Two cultists worked within the room, planing timbers with razor sharp tools. Arlo left them to their work, casting his spell quietly and flying toward a pair of important-looking double doors.
“[Knock].”
The doors opened, and all movement in the workroom stopped. Eyes cast toward the doors warily.
“Justice?” Someone asked nervously.
Arlo darted into the room and slammed the doors shut.
“[Arcane Lock]!”
Relief flooded through him, and Arlo almost slumped as he turned around.
The room was empty, at least of opponents. The walls were covered in human faces stretched over wooden frames. They looked down in agonised horror at a tall-backed chair and a tattered cot covered in some of the scratchiest blankets Arlo had ever seen. A large chest sat under a window, perfect for hiding information in.
The door rattled suddenly. Arlo’s breath caught in his throat.
Rushing to the trunk, the amurrun lifted it with a strained grunt. He shoved the chest into the window, opening it with another [Knock].
“[Levitate]!” he gasped out, before shoving the chest out the window.
Arlo leapt after the trunk, grabbing onto it as the door behind him shattered open. Holding on for dear life, the mage flew as fast as he could, trying to get as far from the mill as possible before the spell failed.

- - -

Exhausted, trembling, Arlo dug through the chest, moving aside books and papers in his search for something useful. Anything useful.
He knelt beside the river, keeping low. His spells were gone for the day. Fatigue settled upon him like a curse. He’d already warned Coradiel that they’d meet at the paladin’s home as soon as he could, but before he could do that, Arlo needed to ditch this very obvious trunk.
Etchings of rock formations… discussion of a bogus school of Alchyme magic… a wizard’s spellbook that Arlo tucked into his bag for perusal later. The other pamphlets and books he tossed into the river. It pained his heart to do such a horrid thing, but he couldn’t let whatever information he found here be the only thing missing from the footlocker.
More books, one titled “Fairy Tales of the Eldest” — he kept that one too; it was far too precious to be ruined by the river.
And then he found it. At the bottom of the trunk, a ledger sat. Flipping through it found some sort of cipher in Draconic and Elven letters… though there was a third set of glyphs Arlo couldn’t quite make out. Abyssal? No… this was too neat for a demonic language. But ciphers were good. Ciphers meant something that was supposed to be hidden.
Tucking the book into his bag of holding, the catfolk kicked the trunk into the river. He took a deep breath, then darted along the riverbed toward the bridge.
What followed was an agonising swim around the outskirts of Magnimar, following along the Varisian Gulf. Arlo kept to the shallows, walking whenever he could. The frigid water sapped what remained of his strength. The air was sickening. Garbage piled all around, to be pushed away as he waded through the muck. His nose burned with every step, and his legs protested the constant effort of having to move through liquid.
It took nearly half an hour to reach the first set of piers. Arlo latched onto a piling, using it to drag himself toward another, and another. Finally, the amurrun ran into the concrete dock. He clawed at the last piling, pulling himself wet and gasping from the water. Ignoring the stares of dock workers, Arlo stumbled forward, forcing himself to keep moving. If he stopped, who knew when he’d go again?
His compass guided him north. Arlo angled east, weaving along a district wall. It forced him west, and before he knew it, Arlo was in the Underbridge once more.
“Fuck….”
Homeless people stared at him as he staggered along. Arlo did his best to ignore them, casting a [Light] on his musket to show his magical prowess. It was a full on bluff — at this point, the amurrun could no more cast a spell than grow wings and fly. But the light did its job, keeping curious eyes from turning into inquisitive hands.
He’d been here before. Dim memories guided him to a checkpoint at the northeastern edge of the district.
“Arlo Silverpaw. Friend to Lord Coradiel Arthien. If you don’t want me to pass, please send a message to him to collect me.”
And that was it. Arlo slumped to the ground, his musket clattering by his side. Heavy pants wracked his body — the only thing keeping him awake.
Until it wasn’t.