Incubo Magnifico based on a Musical

[Journia]

Incubo Magnifico

Chap 1
Gloria Brisoum
Part 1​

The thick fog of the city was troubling to me as I looked out the window of my office b departing. It could conceal so many hidden dangers, a madman, escaped from the in sanitarium, stalking the people of Goryn as they took their nightly strides, or a murderer, taking the life of an innocent man or woman. Thoughts like these crossed my mind as I headed down the stairs, clad in my cape and cravat, to the tavern.

As I headed down the street, a carriage rolled by me. The fog turned and thrashed in its wake like thin wispy smoke from a cauldron. A path filled with dragon like towers of fog preceded me. I headed forth into the frighteningly fantastic pieces as I traveled down to my nightly destination. A block down, I came to a stop in front of an old tavern of the Gyrone Style of architecture. It was called, The Crow and Blade.

As I entered, the smell of wine and whiskey hit me in the way, a sharp burning stick is shoved into your eye. I reeled back an slipped on the heel of my boot. As I fell, I reached for anything to support me, grabbed a chair. Then the chair turned and fell with me, bringing a table to the floor also. Glass shattered on the stone floor covered in a thin layer of Roubein. From in the bar I could hear the owner’s voice.
“I can tell from the slip, thre cry, and the shattering of glass, that our friend Gilliam is here.”
“Yes.” One of the assistants replied helping me up. “Habeas is here!” He said happily.
Sitting at a small table in the back, I waited for my appointment to arrive. As I waited, I tried to piece together the clues I had on another case. But the present situation overwhelmed me. So I resolved to go over my notes of the present case. I opened up my briefcase and took out a folder marked Brisoum. I began to reread the events of the crime.

9:00 am Sunday January third. Feral Brisoum is found dead in his chi=urch clothes. The discoverer is Hanabel Lee.
9:10 the house is alerted. The authorities are called.
9:25 the police arrive in the house and find the grisly scene.
2:00 pm the family goes to church as if nothing had happened. Hanabel stays behind to speak with the police.
2:56 Hannabel falls out dead, no known cause of death as of yet.

I had been called in on the case because, clumsy as I was, I am a good detective. The best in fact. Now, it has been brought to my attention that the murder may have been committed on the property. To that notion I responded with an obvious sarcastic phrase. A letter arrived this morning asking me to meet a Miss Gloria Brisoum at this tavern, which I frequent each night anyway.

Dear Detective Corpus,

I am Gloria Brisoum, I wish to speak with you on the matter of the death of my father, Feral. I understand that you frequent the Crow and Blade tavern, I wish to meet you there tonight at eight o’clock. I will be there at exactly eight, I wish for you to be fifteen minutes early. (which I was)

Good morning Detective.

Now, I have never seen this Miss Gloria, or heard of her being born into the Brisoum family. I knew many in th brisoum family. So this is quite a surprise to me. But even as I thought of the suspicion of this, the door opened and a dark young woman entered the room. Her eyes were a ruddy color her face though normal colored for a Brisoum, their family bears unusually pale skin, was deathlike. She wore a long black skirt, and a black bodice. Her hair was dyed black also. Everyone in the room, (every male that is) took notice of her. She walked with an air of confidence, which I knew only to be the stride of a Brisoum. They had unusually arrogant bones, my physicians would often say of them. She turned to me and walked in my direction, eyes locked on mine. The owner of the bar, a thin man with very dark skin, and even darker hair, and sharp features galore, whispered to his attendants and the young men set about preparing drinks and such.

“Habeas Corpus?” She asked after sitting down in staring silence for thirty seconds.
“Miss Brisoum I presume?”
“Correct,” she said with a smile as she put her arms on the table and leaned forward. “I have some very interesting evidence that was overlooked in the investigation.”
“All evidence is important in a case of murder, though how important is another matter altogether.” I replied, looking at her hands as they searched through a dark leather bag. They were slim, and dainty, yet with a coldness, even a pope would vie for. She presented me with a golden fleur delis. I held it lightly and after examining it, looked up to her.
“It wasi n my father’s dresser.”
“The significance of that is?”
“The significance is that the Brisoum are not French. We are Graile, which means that it was brought there.”
“What makes you think that it was brought there?”
“Because we frown upon the French.”
“So you think the murderer put the Fleur Delis in your father’s dresser drawer, in order to make you think it was a Frenchman?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever considered it could have been a Frenchman?” I asked.
“That would be too simple.”
“Simplicity is something that is quite easily overlooked in the search for an answer. The riddle of creation could be very easily to solve, if people didn’t think of god as making things overly complex. Perhaps it is as simple as batting an eye, or breathing.”
“But why would someone put it in a dresser drawer?”
“Why indeed, especially when no one will think to look there, as it wasn’t disturbed. Was it?”
“Not at all.” She said with assurance.” One of the owner’s serving boys brought us tea.
“For the young lady,” He said with a kind tone, but expressionless countenance, “And for the detective.”
“Thank you very much Bradley.” I said as I took the glass.
“Thank you young man.” She said as she took the glass. She began drinking immediately. “I do thirst quite often.” She said to me as the boy left the area.
“So it seems.”
“What do you make of it at this moment?”
“Nothing. It adds up to nothing as the detectives have given me no evidence to work with.” I said as I opened my folder once again. “Your maid, Hanabel, she is how old?”
“She was twenty-five.”
“Does she have any relatives, here or abroad?”
“She does actually. Her cousin, Anabel was made famous for her affair with Edgar Poe.”
“Anabel is also dead right?”
“No, she didn’t die. But her love for Poe did.” I looked at the time and realized it was getting very late. I usually stayed in here for only fifteen minutes. It had been over an hour since I had sat down.
“Madam if you will accompany me to my office, where we can discuss this more, or rather, in more depth than here, with the distractions of the many denizens of this dark city.”
“Certainly.” She said as she rose from her seat. The two of us left the tavern after I paid the tab and we made our way through the fog once again.

The fog twisted as carriages with dark horses pushed forward, through it. Entering the stage of vision and then exiting behind us. The gray fog twisted itself into huge fierce serpents and dreaming demons staring wide eyed in their brightly lit by the tall street lamps. Soon we entered the building and began to climb the winding stairwell. It was then that something hit me.

“Miss Brisoum. Is your family related to the Valmons family?”
“Ah…I do not know actually.”
“Because I have an idea of what may have caused these murders.”
“Really? Do explain.”
“Well, there is a history with a family called Valmons. They are far older than the Brisoum family, by about thirty generations. When they arrived, they were fleeting the outskirts of the region, building empires, then disappearing, only to pop up once again, this time with an ever greater one. But, the Valmons family were murderers. But they were very original in their workings. They were magicians, And they were forces to be reckoned with.” I opened a door and entered. I walked over to a bookshelf and took down a large leather book. “You have read of the death of Pope Reynard I am sure.”
“No, I never heard of him.”
“Ah, then you will love this. If you enjoy blood.”
“Oh,” she said blushing a bit. “I have quite a fancy and a need for it.”
“Then you will like the tale of Pope Reynard.” I said as I sat in the chair and opened the book.

 

[Journia]

You know what I forgot?

I forgot to tell you that this is going to be updated every week.
Yep. It works for me. So, do check back here around that time. Because from now on, this will be the the place for the showings of a few posts, but more chapterial updates for this story!!!

 

[Low_Roads]

Interesting... I had Poe in mind well before "Hanabel Lee" ever put in her appearance. Perhaps the setting seemed right (the tavern didn't hurt, of course), or possibly it's that the story appears to be macabrely tinted detective fiction. In any event, things have begun quite well; you're tendency toward vivid, precise atmosphere and dark conversational dialogue is firmly in place. Gloria Brisoum... another strong, destiny-driven female (more hints of vampirism... you got a thing for blood-suckers!) And I like the first-person perspective: it adds intimacy.

Also, I think you're wise in restricting this novel to a single thread. I wish now I'd done that with my own story submission, rendering links unnecessary. The once-a-week updating is a good idea too. The break will give folks plenty of time to peruse, digest and consider commentary. It should also build a pleasant anticipation for the coming additions.

 

[Journia]

Yep. I actually decided on doing that, because one, I have trouble ewriting things well consecutively, like story chapters. And two, it gives me a break and time to think on it, and three, because you inspired me to do so also.

 

[Master Chief]

This is a good story Journia. I like how you built it up and then left us hanging at the bridge to more interesting action. Gloria Brisoum seems to be a very, driven character as LBH has already said. Now, the name of your detective, I have heard the name before, isn't it some sort of law or something? The Writ of Habeas Corpus, that's it.

Now, you did this on the twenty second, you also said that you were inspired by LBH meaning possibly, that you are following the weekly schedule in his story Lord of the Wrongs right? So, then you are probably going to do something more tonight. I hope so, because I am dying to read more.

 

[Journia]

Yep. That's right Master. Habeas Corpus. You wanted more? Here is more for you!





“Pope Reynard the Sixteenth was a vile disgraceful man in his morals. The only reason he got to be pope in fact, was because he bought off the council, and said he could rid them of a thorn in their side.”
“The Valmons Family.” Gloria said as she shifted in her seat.
“Correct. Now, as I have already said, the Valmons were powerful. In manners the likes of which no papal authority in the Vatican had ever seen. Let us now move to Vienna, where the first of the murders of the Valmons family took place. The family was taking holiday in the old city taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the Italian cityscape. The children of the Valmons family were together in the bathhouse and played happily in the warm waters. But the pope‘s executioners burst in and shot everyone in the large room with crossbows.” Gloria squirmed a bit, probably imagining the pain of having a bolt pierce your skull and your brain at close range. I continued. “The second event of death in the Valmons family, was when the uncles of the first Valmons was found in his bed with his throat slit. His countenance was peaceful, until his covers were pulled off, to reveal that only his head remained.” I looked up at Gloria to find her staring attentively.
“Go on.” she urged.
“The most heinous of the Pope’s crimes however, was a crime of love, or rather, to stop love. His nephew, Medicio Lorenz, was courting one of the young Valmons girls, Maria. She loved him with all of his heart. He equaled her adoration with his own, but the pope had her poisoned as she ate. She died of strychnine poisoning, which would have frightened anyone who was not familiar with it. She died in great pain, twisting and turning in spasms and such, finally, her back snapping in two, and her screams stopping suddenly. The Lorenz boy and the Valmons family held the funeral for Maria in the Vatican, for no one at the time knew that the perpetrator of these crimes was the pope himself. Then the most damning thing happened. Medicio took his own life. He stood in a tower high above the city, watching the procession When he suddenly hurled himself over the rail, and down into the street. Although, I fear that it may have been the pope who had his guards push him. Either way, the pope blamed the death of his nephew on the almons family and had the elders and youths alike executed. There were few Valmons left, and they would surely die out. As per the plan of the pope. Of course, fate and god have a way of bringing things to pass by plans. Things may not come as expected, and plans go awry. This was the way it went down, and how the murder of the pope became the bloodiest of them all.” Gloria was on the edge of her seat, when I looked up, and as I turned to get a drink of water from the cooler, she fell on the floor.
“Are you alright my dear?” I said turning around swiftly. She had risen back to her seat and sat with her back sed on the chair this time. Thankfully.
“Oh, I am fine. May I have some water also please?” She asked holding out her hand.
“Certainly.” I poured her a glass and began to finish the story.

“Maria died because of the pope.” Shouted Malachai as he hurled a mirror across the room. His sister Mesloa, his brother Machnae and his cousin Griaol all stared, stiff with fright, at the appearance of their cousin.
“What are you all looking at?” Malachai screamed. His eyes were red with rage.
“You are supposed to be dead.” Mesloa said quietly.
“You were in Vienna when our other relatives were murdered.”
“I wasn’t in the Bathhouse. But the pope sent his men to kill our family. I found out about it for the last seven years. The pope made a deal with the Catholic Council, he would kill our family off, because we are becoming too powerful. We were going the wayu of the Knight’s Templar.” He picked up a bottle of wine and looked at it. An idea began to form in his head. “He wishes to kill the last of us off. But he won’t.”
“Why?” Machnae asked. “What makes you so certain that he will not kill us off now that it is only the four of us left?”
“Because he already thinks that I am dead. I merely have to step out of the picture, and then I will fade right back into the nonexistence from whence I rose. Even if you three are murdered, I can still continue the bloodline.”
“What is it that you will do to stop the pope?”
“I have a plan.”

The next week, the four were at the Vatican. They were dressed as wine sellers. They went into the wine cellars of the pope’s city and found them to be as large and meandering as the streets of Rome.
“What is it that you are going to do?” Griaol asked.
“Tonight, the pope will be drinking wine. He is an immoral man anyway. We will bring him here. There we will make his death, the bloodiest in the history of the Vatican.”

That night, at the Vatican Ball, all the papal officials and their guests attended. The king of Varixe was there with his queen, Relena. Lord Guy of Vienna also attended. These were the crème de la crème of the Italian lands. Now, the wine was taken from the cellars and dumped into the sewers of the Vatican. Later, when the wines ran out, the winemen were sent to get more.
“Lisiu, I was aware that there were four vats of wine this morning.” Mario said to his assistant.
“There were. But now I don’t see them.” The boy said as he hurried down the winding steps.
Suddenly out of nowhere, two caped figures pushed the men over the railing, and they went screaming into the darkness. Moments later, there was a great thud. The two figures ran down the stairs and disappeared into the darkness.

“Where are those two with the wine?” The pope thought as he looked at the people dancing. Over two hundred guests were in the magnificent ballroom. The next moment brought two of the wine boys into the room.
“Pope Reynard! Something terrible has happened!” The smaller of the boys cried out.
“Come with us sir.” The older of the two urged as they took the pope’s hands. They went down to the wine cellar They went to the larger room where they began to survey the room,.”
“Lorenzo, Giacomo, what are you two dragging me around for? I must return to my guests! There is a vat of Patchouli wine right there!” He shouted indicating the rather large vat near the corner.
“You will go nowhere Pope Reynard.” Malachai said as he took off the wig of the smaller boy. He turned around, and thrust out his hand. The pope flew into the air and into the vat. He landed in a bundle of Patchouli leaves.
“How is this supposed to be bloody? Malachai;s brother asked.
“Patchouli leaves when immersed in boiling water, become blood red. Pour in the water!” He shouted. When he ordered, his two sisters waved their hands in the air, and a grat vat of boiling water fell from the air and into the screaming pontiff’s prison. He rose to the top, screaming and splashing as the water turned blood red. Soon the top was placed upon the vat. The night ended with the parties leaving the Vatican, and the Valmons family with them. Pope Reynard was found weeks later as fat as a boiled hot dog. Malachai had to leave the country and retreat back to his family’s homeland wherever that may have been.” Closing the book, I glanced up once again to see the young Gloria Brisoum, with a stunned look on her face.
“Is something the matter?” I asked sitting down at my desk, and closing the shades.
“Do you have any other information on this Malachai?”
“He was a poet, a writer, and an experienced swordsman, aside from also being the most powerful sorceror in the Valmons family.”
“I see. Well, do you have a picture of Malachai?” She asked quickly. Glancing out the window, before pulling the shutters back, I eyed the fog again. The wind was blowing hard, thrusting the fog along, it resembled horses in war, stampeding.
“Yes. Yes I do.” I rose and took her hand. We then traveled into the next room, where I thumbed through a number of pictures. I finally came upon a small slip of paper.
BEHIND THE BOOK CASE
I realized that I put it behind the large bookshelf in the main room. So, after putting the album back, I brought her back into my room, where I moved the large bookshelf with difficulty. On the bac the book case was a frame, as wide as the bookcase itself. On the whole thing, there were thrity people. Twelve adults, ranging from their thirties, to their 100’s. then the rest were children. I indicated a young man, of about fourteen. He wore a black suit, with long black hair. He stood near the edge of the picture, looming over the sitting people, like The Angel of Death waiting for an old person to die.
“This is Malachai.” I said.
Gloria looked at his photograph, then her eyes widened. She staggered back and sat in the chair.
“Oh my goodness.”
“Is there anything you see?”
“Well, I think my family is related to This Valmons family.”
“Do elaborate on this.” I pleaded.
“This is my grandfather.”

 

[ticklekid1]

Grampaw? Cul.

 

[Low_Roads]

Boiled to death in a wine vat! Now there's a plot turn worthy of Poe! Once again, Poe comes handily to mind (man lured downstairs by a wine dilemna... that's a natural spur). The Borgia-like scrambling for advantage certainly is a heady background for further horrors! This tale grows more and more engrossing as it becomes more personal...

 

[Journia]

Why thank you LittleBigHead. I have to say, I even surprised myself with that point. It actually didn't go as I planned it out in my mind. The pope was supposed to just drown in the vat of patchouli wine.

 

[Master Chief]

This is getting interesting. The pope became a demagogue because of his claim of the ability to get rid of the Valmons family. The Young Malachai is apparently a very important character, since he is most mentioned throughout the story. Am I correct? Also, since he is the girl's grandad, I suppose so. I can't wait for more of this!!!

 

[Journia]

Yes...well, you will have more I can assure you.

 

[Journia]

"That motley drama oh be sure, it shall not be forgot." Isabel Brisoum said as she sauntered into the room. She was a spry young lady with dark brown hair and long curls. She wore a black dress, like her sister Gloria. I watched from the hallway she as closed her father's door. I turned and went down the hallway, back to the sitting room.
"Now I wish to ask you, Madam Brisoum, a number of questions concerning the Welfare of your husband."
"They are likely not to be better than those that the officers asked me the day before yesterday."
"Still, I must inquire. Come with me." I led her into the sitting area, an octagonal room which held six large windows, made of gold, with crushed diamonds melted down to glass for the panes. All open to the night.
"Madam Brisoum, please, tell me what was your husband's age?"
"He was fifty-three."
"He did not have the body of a fifty-three year old man."
"He wasn't an ordinary man."
"Was he sick at anyrecent time before his death?"
"No, he was perfectly fine when he woke up the morning of his demise."
"Tell me exactly what happened before he died. What did you do that morning?"
"I woke everyone in the house, Hannabel our maid, was cooking before everyone as usual, but that morning, she neglected to wake anyone. Therefore I had to. Once I woke the children, I returned to find that My husband had left the room and had taken my washcloth and gone in the bathroom. Very inconsiderate of him. I then waited for him to come out and I went in, and then I went downstairs again. Then Hannabel came down the stairs about twenty minutes later, and told us that my husband was dead, we went up the stairs and found that he was sitting in the chair, so peaceful. He lokoed like he had fallen asleep, and we would have left him like that, except we soon found that his carotid was slit like a lamb."
"That is all?"
"Yes."
"I have one other question Madam Brisoum, before I permit you to leave. Is your husband of the Valmons lineage?" The woman froze for a moment, and for less than a moment, I could swear to have seen a flicker of terror upon her face.
"No."
"Thank you. Good evening now."

The portrait was a heavy one, but we managed to lift it into the carriage, Gloria and I. We had found a particularly familiar emblem in the father's bedroom. We found the portrait under the newer portrait framed in the bronze design. It was of a young man who sat in a chair. His was a suit of black, with a white shirt. He was a smiling young man. He was Malachai Valmons, with all his mysterious, and deadly glory. Upon his suit coat, was the fleur delis, save for, it wasn't actually a Fleur delis, it was upside down.
"God damnit! Of course, it wasn't a fleur Delis at all!" Gloria and I said in the same instance.
"Do you know what it is?" I aske her.
"Yes, do you?"
"Of course, I haven't been there in years!"
"To Wier!" We shouted in harmony, stabbing the air with our black gloved hands.

 

[Master Chief]

This is a great addition to your on going story Journia. This approach to the murderer is sure to have hearts racing. I can not wait to have more of this.

 

[Low_Roads]

The portrait was a heavy one, but we managed to lift it into the carriage, Gloria and I...

An oval portrait, one hopes.

Most vivid, detailed crime-scene testimony, loaded with credibility-friendly verisimilitude! Habeas has plenty to chew on now; if he can make nothing of these clues, he may not be worthy of his nom de guerre. And that sitting room is a pip! Gold paneling... crushed-diamond window glass... these guys sure do live opulent!

 

[Journia]

Without doubt my lexicologic friend.

 

[Journia]

Chapter2 part one

Chapter 2
That Motley Drama

The horse hooves beat the stony bridge as we rode into the mountains, the Chastys mountains went high into the dark, foreboding skyscape. The carriage passed through the area between two mountains. Gloria and I talked for a bit as the terrain of the road changed from rocky, to smooth. We came across a great bridge stretching five miles. The bridge united the mountain ranges of Chastys and Flaug. Above us were the light, blue-gray clouds of the sky, a dark comfort for me, and below the foggy chiasmic regions of the mountain chains. I turned to face Gloria again. She had fallen asleep, most likely from the night of searching through her home.

I looked at the Portrait of Malachai, my, he was a handsome fellow. I could see why he was sought after by princesses. Though, he had affections for others of the lower ranks. I sat back and thought about the days of the murderer.

"Witch! Burn her at the stake!" The crowd demanded of the poor Flora Lias. The tall woman with the dark hair, eyes and nails, who stood before the hundred fold crowd of men women, children and Demons who attended such things. She was dressed in a black leather outfit with thigh high boots and black leather pants. In its sheath was a long curved sword, like an ottoman blade, hung past her beautiful leather clad calves. Dressed too ornately for a poor witch. But poor she was, though a witch, no.

"I am not a witch! I am a huntress! Only that! I only ever want to be a huntressaaaaahhh!!!!" The inquisitor whipped the cat o' nine tails upon her back. The chafing leather had to hurt. Repeatedly for ten minutes, the inquisitor in his dark gold encrusted robe, beat the devil out of the woman in a ritualistic manner. Sfter all was said and done, the was bound to a horse, and sent off down the road, to the Siberian wastes. Fires burned over the ice, they were the fires of Hell.

Fire. It was everywhere, buildings fell to the ground as the squealing sound continued. People ran as the fire leapt upon them from the windows, from the trees, from the lakes, streams and rivers. Wier was never the same. An orphanage before fell to the ground, children were still inside it, all roasting as if they were nazi campers. On and on, the fires spread, and they all were accompanied by the evils of the violinists. Forever afterward, it was the assumption, though whispered behind their backs, that the leader of the violinists was the brilliant Malachai Valmions. But it was never proven, as they were never seen. I drifted off to sleep.

 

[Low_Roads]

Goodie! A road trip! Nothing quite like travel to limber away expositional fatigue! Through thrilling Carpathian (or where-ever) elevations, too, supported by five long miles of crag-spanning stonework... an engineering marvel to rival the Roman aqueducts!

Despite setting, this adventure is assuming a most Roman-esque tone... Malachai fiddling while Wier burns. Yet more time displacement pains loom on the out-skirts: Nazi boot-prints glimpsed in the ash. Can Sherlock Holmes and the Bloody Count be far behind!

 

[Journia]

...Mmmmmebbe....

 

[Journia]

Big Pimpin'

The headmaster stood before the students in the classroom. He was a tall, thin man, very old, and dressed in the puritain style. His long white hair was pulled back in a ponytail reaching just below his shoulders. His head was tilted up in confidence and his eyes drew all attention to him. He faced the field of filled cauldrons, brimming over with glowing steam. The cloaked students pulled back their hoods, revealing mostly brown faces. I had never seen this many brown faces in my life.
"Students of the Academy of Wier are the best of the best. As you can see also, they are all of african descent."
"You are their teacher sir?"
"No. Just the headmaster."
"Oh, I thought..."
"You think that I know this magic, because I am white?"
"Yep, pretty much."
"Alas, there was a time where I was a most powerful sorceror in the land, the greatest in fact, but I am no longer so."
"But that would mean..." Gloria ventured.
"Impotence." I finished.
"Quite right." He turned to the students and began to address them. "Students, this is Master Habeas Corpus of Vlaxtau. He has been drawn to this area to enlist the aid of a number of you. Master Corpus?"
Stepping forward, I began to explain the situation. "...and that is why I am here. Does anyone know Malachai Valmons?" No hands rose. Despaired, I thanked them and turned to leave. "To the combat area."

The Combat room was wide, it was four of my office buildings put together. Inside more boys and girls fought each other. Long swords, staffs of power, arrows, bows, and quills scattered about the floor. The room was split into sections for combat. One wasd designed like a wooded area, in order for the students to better maneuver over logs, trees, and kill prey and enemies. Another was a craggy, rocky area, where a land bridge of stone was set up. Two students fought feircely upon it.
"As you can see, Master Corpus, we use our student's biological advantages in order to improve their skills in our methods of warfare.
"But they used these same techniques in their own lands thousands of years ago. You didn't make the sword. You gave it the name, sword." Gloria said angrily.
"My dear, we are of a superior genealogy. We are the original creators."
"You are a fool."
"Let us stop now please." I pleaded quelling the argument. "Excuse me everyone?" All the students froze in midstep and stared directly at me. "I am Habeas Corpus, detective from Vlaxtau. I am looking for a certain Malachai--"
"Valmons!" The students shouted happily.
"Yes. Do any of you know of his whereabouts?" One student jumped down and ran over to me. A little girl with long curly hair, flowing about her shoulders. Her skin was very dark, a purplish black, and her mouth was painted with a completely white smile. Her eyes had all the seeming of a demons that was dreaming, but her voice was that of an angel.
"He's my daddy." She said happily. I looked at Gloria, who stared at the girl with an upturned eyebrow. and a crazily smiling face. I could have sworn for a moment, a huge blue raindrop formed just off of her head and hung there. But I had no time to confirm it, she turned to me and said this.
"If Malachai is the Murderer, his little girl is going to be daddyless."
"Fatherless. Perhaps, but he may just get extridited."
"Then he might get killed by the pope."
"That was eight hundred years ago."
"Oh, man."
A little boy who overheard us, shouted out. "Dang! Big Pimpin'!" That was when his opponent smacked his leg with the broad side of her sword, he slipped, hit the bridge, and tumbled down to the rocks below.
"I win." The girl declared meekly. The boy groaned among the rocks.

 

[Low_Roads]

I see we've taken a bit of a Harry Potter turn. The magic appears tantric in nature (staff practice indeed! This is an approach Rowlings never had any stomach for). I don't know if (and if so, why) this relates to the predominant racial makeup of the class... I hope we're not straying into stereotypes.

By chapter's end, the storytelling has become fractured and hallucinatory: instant, unexpected relations; 800-year time lapse; boy tossed casually to a broken death. You simply will not behave! (and good on ya!)

 

[Journia]

Oh, Gloria referred to the tale of the pope. And the boy didn't die.

 

[Low_Roads]

... and the boy didn't die.

Redemption! I may breathe freely once again!

 

[Journia]

An imaginative architect must have had a field day when he or she was commissioned to build this marvel. Wier was by far the most baroque city I had ever been to, or had ever read of. That my longing for a return trip to this lovely city, and the unexpected turn my investigation had taken, leading me here, was to me, pure coincidence. However, the priests in the city, having heard of my fancy, and my case, had become suspicious and quite bluntly asked me to leave the city, an action supported by the belief that there was danger afoot.
"You aren't really going to leave are you?" Gloria said in tears.
"Alas, I must." I said, turning to the priests. "The most honorable do require it."
"But the murder! What are we going to do about my father's death?"
"I would rather keep my head than investigate further into how another got his cut." I turned toward the door. "Come on Gloria, you have to come too."
"No!" She shouted at me. "I am not going anywhere!"
"Come on now woman!" I said aggressively as I pulled her out be her arm. Once out of the cathedral, which from the air, resembled a huge crucifix with a spherical ruby in the middle, I said to Gloria, "Okay, let's find Malachai."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you really think I am going to leave a case open like this? You and I found more evidence than the best detectives in the City-State of Vlaxtau. We are closer right now, than anyone has ever been, to this conundrum's heart, and I don't think either of us want to see it thrive upon the conspirital thought processes of the Gaymyn, now do we?"
"Of course not." Gloria said smiling, "No we don't."
"So then let us find Malachai Valmons."
"I've got the kid." She replied as we made our way to Mixshewel Place.

 

[Journia]

Mixshewel Place was a huge carriage center where you could schedule carriage rides from one end of the City-State to the other, or to other lands. We wanted a ride to little Yarmeli’s, forthat was the little girl’s name, home.
“Three…to….heaven’s…alley.” Yarmeli said as she jumped up to the manager’s box to order tickets. “…Please.” She added in a final leap. The elderly man smiled. He was tan, but Caucasian, with a speckeled gray and black moustache, showing his age. He had to be atleast sixty years old. He then handed us the tickets and we made our way down the halls, which were mirrored, making it difficult to see which way was up, to the Carriage departure area.
Thje departure area was a large area, much like a parking lot. It was mainly an open space in fact. The only thing above us was the roof, which was supported by huge granite pillars, with outstretching arms and hands at the bases. Gloria walked over to the pillars and looked at them. Their width took thirty of her. She scrutinized the delicacy of the hands, the clothing and the arms.
“This is quite beautiful, I haven’t seen anything like this before. It’s almost as if these are real, except for their material—Whoah!!” One hand clasped around her arm, and another about her waist. The pillar was alive with stone hands! I had never seen such a menagerie of moving stone in my life, and I have seen some wierd things…heh, get it? Wierd? Gloria shouted as one hand began feeling her leg, another pulled off her boot.
“You nasty little hands are going to pay for this!” She shouted. A moment later, she pulled one hand off of the pillar, and began whacking the others with it. Cracking them to the floor and crumbling them, she stood up, laced up her boot and tore over to us.
“Let’s get to the carriage and leave.”
“I agree.” Yarmeli said.
“I concur.” I replied.
The carriage driver knew the Valmons family, and was concerned as to why we were with Yartmeli.
“Official Legis Mori busxiness.” I replied as we got into the vehicle.
The carriage sped out of the Departure area like a bolt from the blue. Across the aqueductine bridge we rode, with four horses easily making sharp turns and passing through narrow junctions. From the bridge we could see all of Wier, the hillsides were accentuating the setting sun and making it appear brighter upon the hill’s profile.
“What a beautiful sight.” Gloria said looking out the window. I turned to see her view, which was the opposite window. It bore a grayish blue overcast sky, with pinkish clouds , reflected light from the setting sun. Below it was the ocean, stretching out to eternity. As I admired this, I held Gloria’s hand. Not out of passion, she and I both knew that, but simply because it was the best thing to do at the time. Suddenly, there was a gunshot, the scream of a horse, the driver yelled, I pulled Yarmeli to my end of the carriage, and then the wall behind her seat began to splinter, and then the groaning of metal and cracking of wood filled the air. Then there was a crash.
Darkness.

 

[Low_Roads]

A most picturesque tour of Weir, a place of unusual (to put it mildly) architecture. The digit-rich column puts me in mind of similar dextrous stonework from Jean Cocteau's "Beauty and the Beast", and its rather casual acceptance here is just as startling. And the ending sentences, portending an actual cliff-hanger, heighten suspense to its steepest pitch yet!

Gotcha, by the way, is hilarious! Both irreverent and good-humored (nice to see the executioner sharing in the joke!), not to mention a marvel of intricate line! From what source does this spring (if you don't mind the question)?