What Little Remains Of Terpsichore Ironheart

I knocked on the door, and sighed quietly. Robert and Amelie lived in an absolute slum. Like Greenwood Village used to be, except this part of town didn't have a powerful druid to overturn the cold calculus of money and power in favor of respecting the basic dignity of all people.

The door opened just a crack, and standing there in the gap was a man I could only assume was Robert Thorn. Looking at him, I'd never guess that he was a half-elf; his skin was a medium-brown, his hair jet black and tightly curled, and his features not quite so sharp and pointed as a half-elf's tended to be. He was also a bit on the short side, but that was likely more to growing up poor rather than anything genetic; I had a suspicion I knew his human father, and that guy wasn't short either.

"...You from the Palace or somethin'?" Robert asked.

"Kinda," I said. "Duchess Melody sent me. I don't really work there, though. Can we come in?"

His eye darted from me, to Talia, and then to Faith, who had- taken off the duster I'd told her to wear so that this guy did not immediately clock her as a Paladin god fucking dammit Faith!

"You got a warrant?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild.

"I've got a healer for your mom," I said, gesturing at Talia, who waved. "At the low, low price of answering two simple questions for me."

Muscles tensed in his face, as he considered the question very, very carefully.

"...Fine," he said, as the door opened. "Watch your step, I wasn't expecting company."

The apartment was tiny, and cluttered, all just one room for him to eat, sleep, and live in, with only a tiny bathroom for him to shit in. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even have a proper bathtub or shower in here, and had to wash himself with a rag.

All over the floor was all sorts of miscellaneous shit- mostly paper and cardboard wrappers, and a few empty bottles. No dirty clothes on the floor, though- the only clothes this guy had were the ones he was wearing and the ones he'd washed and hung up to dry- indoors, since he couldn't risk anyone stealing his laundry. And the less said about the smell, the better.

In the corner of the cramped room was a mattress on the floor, where a gaunt elf woman was lying, motionless but for her slow breathing. Her skin had taken on a yellow tint- even I knew that meant her liver was bad- and her cheeks had gone hollow.

"Shit, that's bad," I muttered. "Talia, can you-?"

"I'll do what I can, but... we might need to get your dad for this," Talia said.

"Dammit," I muttered. "Okay. Robert, we'll do what we can, but depending on what's wrong, we might have to move your mom to Greenwood Village for healing."

"You're not taking her anywhere," Robert said, folding his arms. "If you need a better healer, they can come here."

"...I'll see what I can do," I said quietly. "Sorry. This is..." I turned back to look at what remained of Amelie Rosepetal, and grimaced. "...Suddenly my questions don't seem so important."

"...The hell are you on about?"

"She's clearly dying," I said.

"And what's it to you?" Robert asked, scowling. "Huh? You think I'm some kinda low-down snake who's gonna screw you if I don't get exactly what I want? I'm no saint, but I know how to play ball. So what're your questions?"

I blinked a few times. What the hell was this guy's deal? I- y'know what, no, it doesn't matter. I'll make sure his mom makes it through this, but what Robert thinks about this is irrelevant.

"Liver cancer," Talia announced. "You've been treating it pretty well, all things considered, but she's gonna need actual surgery for this."

"Shit," Robert muttered. "Damn fixer didn't give me enough to cover surgery..." Then he realized Faith and I were still here, and his eyes went wide.

"Were you involved in stealing a statue from Magister Brown's office?" I asked.

"...What's it to you?" he said, folding his arms.

"Oh, I don't give a rat's ass about putting people in jail or anything," I said. "As a matter of fact, if you did rob that fucker, I'd shake your hand and give you five dollars. What I want is that statue, and I'm pretty sure it's not here. So, Robert. Were you involved in stealing that statue?"

"...Yeah. I was."

"Do you know where it is now?"

"...I don't," he admitted. "Sorry, but... Look, my mom is dying, and I can't afford the medicine it takes to keep her from vomiting up everything she eats, and... and the Thieves' Guild came to me. Said I had potential. Said I just had to do one little job for 'em, and they'd make me a member and pay me good money for it. So I got a job mopping floors in the Mage's Guild under a fake name, and one night, when I was the only one on my floor, I let myself into Magister Brown's office and used the Bag of Holding they gave me to steal the statue and the glass tube with the clay figure in it- I think they called it a relic or something."

"Reliquary," I said. "There's a history lesson in there, but let's be honest: you don't give a shit. So you handed off that Bag of Holding to your fixer, and he promised he'd make you a member of the Thieves' Guild, right?"

"And he paid me," Robert said, pulling out a cloth pouch that jingled as it moved. "Wouldn't've done the job if there wasn't pay in it; told him I needed money, not work."

"So who's your fixer?" Faith asked, folding her arms.

"He told me that all I needed to know is his name was Mr. Smith," Robert said. "It's a fake name- the fake name, for those guys."

"Okay, well... where'd you meet him?" Faith asked.

"The Goblin's Trumpet," Robert said. "It's a bar nearby."

"...Goddammit, not now!" Faith groaned. "I cannot have this trail go cold now of all times!"

"That bag in your hands," I said, pointing at Robert's coinpurse. "Did he give it to you, personally?"

"Yeah," Robert said, already tucking it back away. "Why?"

"So it was something that was on his person, for at least one important event," I said, as I took my duster back from Faith.

"Listen here, I need this money-"

"And you can keep the money," I said. "I need something your fixer owned. Money isn't great for that- it's always changing hands, and one dollar coin is the same as any other. But the bag?" I smirked. "Well, I doubt that's passed through a thousand hands over the course of its life." I pulled out a small canvas bag- well, it wasn't that small, it was in fact big enough to fit your head inside, but, whatever. "How's about a trade?"

"...Alright," Robert said, snatching the sack from my hands and dumping his coins inside, before tossing the empty purse at me. "Here."

"Thank you kindly, sir," I said, carefully tucking the purse away in my pocket. "Oh, and, I did say I'd do this, so..." I pulled out five dollar coins, and dropped them inside his sack, before grabbing one of his hands and shaking it firmly. "You wouldn't be looking for work, would you?"

"...Yeah? What've you got for me?" Robert asked.

"Get yourself down to Greenwood Village, to the Greenwood Publishing House," I said. "They always need errand boys to deliver stuff to shops, and pick up ink and paper from their suppliers. They'll pay you good money."

"I don't live in Greenwood Village," Robert said.

"They'll fix that," I said dryly. "They'll pay you real good money."

Now, admittedly, I was so confident that the Greenwood Publishing House would employ Robert and give him someplace to live because he was a half-elf, and elves look after each other- if I'd tried to do this for a human, there wasn't nearly as much chance of this working. I mean, it also probably wouldn't work for a dwarf, but dwarves had their own "look out for each other" arrangement, and thus likely wouldn't need it.

"...I don't know what to say. Thank you, I- I can't thank you enough-"

"You don't need to," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "You've given me a lead on my grandmother's statue; it's worth this much to me and more."

I turned to look at Talia, who was doing what little healing she could to ease Amelie's pain.

"Lemme know when you're done, Talia, and we'll get out of here and go get my dad."

"Got it."

---

"Fancy," Faith remarked, as I drew out the spell circle on the floor of the garage in chalk.

"I don't know this spell too well, and it's big enough that I can't hold it all in my head at once," I said. "Lucky for me, that's something humans have to deal with all the time, and they developed ways around it."

I set the coin purse in the center of the circle, and stepped back, closing my eyes and clearing my mind.

"Everyone shut up," I said, before starting to work my magic.

I was really glad I was a dabbling Occultist right about now, because if I wasn't, I'd have to do this with Arcane magic, and... well, it'd be a lot harder. "Give up and ask Mom to do it for me, and possibly even be told no because it'd use a lot of effort and magicka even for her" levels of 'harder.'

This spell was, ultimately, pretty simple from an Occult point of view: it determines who the object's owner is, and with a bit more effort, can figure out its past owners, too.

With a grunt, the last piece of the spell's formula locked into place in my mind's eye, and suddenly magicka flowed out of me like water from an overturned cup. I opened my eyes to see images appearing over the coin purse.

The current owner was me, and so we all saw a picture of a tall, broad-shouldered elf man with a black leather duster and long flame-red hair. The previous owner was Robert Thorn, and we saw a much more humble-looking half-elf man with short-cropped black hair and a shirt that hadn't been washed recently.

But it was the owner before him who we were interested in, and it was his face that came up next.

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me," Talia said.

"You know this guy?" Faith asked.

"John Courser," I said, staring at the face of the loser who'd bullied me in school. "We're acquainted."