27 March 1686 of the 6th Era, Passiflora Road, East District

  Charlotte paid the cab driver and calmly walked towards the large metal gate, the very same one they had gone through the night before. Now, however, it was made open in front of her by the Welz’s butler, who then politely followed her into the house. A maid was already waiting for her in the spacious hall, ready to take her winter coat and hat.

  During the day, illuminated by the bright sun, the place looked even somewhat welcoming. The plush carpet under her feet, the old staircase made of sturdy oak, the paintings hanging on the walls… Everything had this undeniable air of modest dignity that one could only experience in truly old aristocratic houses, where the family had nothing to prove anymore.

  She was led into a small sitting room on the ground floor.

  “Lord Welz will be here shortly,” the butler told her before politely closing the door. “He asked me to forward his apologies, something rather urgent came up.”

  Charlotte walked over to the lit fireplace, warming her hands over the flames, her gaze idly travelling across the room. She had to admit that this household had rather good taste when it came to interior design. The armchairs and the sofa in the middle of the room weren’t new, but well looked after, and the upholstery nicely harmonised with the dark painted walls. The assortment of figurines and decorations on the mantelpiece in front of her, too, was carefully chosen to make a favourable impression on anyone invited into the room. No tacky souvenirs or novelty pieces from the Southern Islands or the Eastern Archipelago. Surprisingly, no candles, either. Two matching statuettes, a skillfully put together silk flower arrangement in the centre, and a seemingly carelessly forgotten tome of poetry, which, of course, somehow perfectly fit into this composition. Not a speck of dust to be seen, either.

  Like in any self respecting sitting room, one wall was hidden behind a bookcase that spanned from floor to ceiling. Charlotte grinned, noticing that the books had been arranged both by size and colour. However, if someone wanted to find something here, she could only wish them the best of luck. None of it was in alphabetical order, or any kind of order, really. Fiction was placed right next to a medical encyclopedia. A work on alchemy neighboured with a dictionary and the “Who is who” of the Enuan nobility. It felt like someone just walked into a bookstore, bought every single tome that looked presentable, and then let someone with even less knowledge of the written word arrange it in an eye-pleasing pattern. It was doubtful that any of these books saw much use, if any.

  Not that there was a need for that. They were there just to make an impression and serve as a backdrop to whatever conversations that took place in the room, or, at best, as conversation starters if the guest and the head of the house were bored of discussing the weather and local politics.

  The door opened, and a middle-aged man briskly walked into the room, followed by another, about the same age. They made quite the fitting pair. Tall, agile in movements, with similarly dark hair showing the first signs of greying, dark eyes, and sharp facial features, it was all but certain they were related to each other in some way.

  It also seemed like they either ran here or had just had an argument. Both their faces were reddish, and the hair somewhat messy.

  “My apologies for the wait, Lady Dawntreader,” the one to first enter the room bowed politely. “Lord Simon Welz, at your service. This is my younger brother, Lord Marcus Welz.”

  She curtsied in return, “My condolences in connection with the recent tragedy in your house. Cardinal Whitesand–”

  “Oh, what tragedy are you talking about?”

  “Marcus!”

  “Shut up,” the younger brother walked over to the sitting area and all but fell into one of the armchairs, putting his legs on the neat coffee table and sending the newspapers that were neatly laid there to the floor. “You’ve been waiting for the old man to hit the bucket for ten years or so now. Everyone knows that. Pretty certain even this exotic bird from Lundhaven has already heard a thing or two. Why even try to pretend? Lady Dawntreader, my brother claims you’re some sort of exorcist. That correct?”

  “Marcus, that is quite enough!”

  “It’s fine,” Charlotte peacefully raised her hand. “You are correct, I am an exorcist of the Church of the Dead Moon. I’m not here on any official business, however.”

  “I don’t give a damn why you came here. I want you to deal with the ghost haunting our family. Preferably before it kills all of us.”

  She looked at Marcus Welz, then at his brother, who was now leaning against the wall, covering his face with his hands in utter embarrassment.

  “My apologies, Lady Dawntreader,” Lord Simon finally remembered how to speak and pointed towards the vacant armchairs. “I was hoping we could have a more civil conversation, but my brother is not one to exchange pleasantries, as you can see.”

  “His behaviour is hardly surprising if there really is a haunting,” she politely nodded, following the invitation and addressing Lord Marcus Welz. “I’ve seen many brave men run away in fear at the first sign of the unnatural.”

  “Trust me, there is a haunting, or you wouldn’t have been allowed in this house.”

  “Like you have a say in anything.”

  “We’ll see once the testament is recovered,” Lord Marcus burst out and instantly fell quiet, realising what he had just said.

  “I take it the document was taken during the robbery?” Now here was a piece of news she hadn’t heard yet.

  “Yes,” Lord Marcus replied glumly, glaring at his elder brother as if it was the latter’s fault.

  “Why didn’t you report it to the State Investigation Unit?”

  “At first, we thought nothing of it as we knew that our father’s solicitor had a copy of the thing. Imagine our surprise when it turned out that the old fool had retrieved it some two weeks before his demise and put it in the safe along with the other valuables,” Lord Simon explained, in return staring daggers at Lord Marcus. “And, it so happens, together with the original. We only found out a couple of days ago, when I finally had time to visit his office.”

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  “Well, that’s… certainly a move,” Charlotte tried to keep her tone as neutral as possible. “Is that decision of his in any way connected to the ghost your brother has mentioned just now?”

  “I have no clue why he did that. Though it wouldn’t have surprised me if he wanted to change the will in that thing’s favour just to spite us. Provided it’s really a ghost, of course, and not some elaborate prank,” Lord Simon Welz sighed.

  “It’s a ghost alright. I know what I saw,” Lord Marcus Welz stubbornly lowered his head, reminding Charlotte of a bull ready to charge. “Can we get to the point already?”

  “Most definitely,” Charlotte thought for a moment, then reached into a hidden pocket in her skirt and pulled out her small notepad and pencil. “Tell me everything you’ve experienced so far. You can start by simply stating why you believe there’s something haunting you, and why you feel like it’s wishing you harm.”

  “It’s really embarrassing to–”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, brother,” Lord Marcus slammed his fist against the armrest, “you really gonna drag your feet like this? Stop with the ‘sorry’ and ‘embarrassed’, unless you want to talk this woman to death. Well, maybe you’ll die sooner than her,” he grinned. “Doesn’t make much of a difference.

  “Fine. I’ll start. At first I was very sceptical about the whole haunting idea, too, but after that night… There’s certainly something not right with this house. Our old man had a lot of little rituals he himself followed and had us follow, but we thought it was nothing more than superstitions following his time on the Eastern Archipelago. Was a war veteran.”

  “I recently found out that we were there at the same time,” Charlotte nodded. “Fought in the same battles, even.”

  “Ha. I guess you don’t remember him.”

  She shook her head, “I’m afraid not, but I was there on a mission from the Church of the Dead Moon. My involvement in the campaign was incidental.”

  “I see. Either way, when he perished, we naturally stopped doing whatever nonsense he made us do. Only that… Weird things started happening. Benign at first. Items going missing and reappearing in odd places. Doors opening or closing on their own, with no one in sight. Weird noises coming from the attic, but every time someone went to check, they’d find nothing.

  “Last week, though, one of our maids fell down the stairs and got injured. She claimed someone had pushed her, but Mr Fincke, our butler, who was there and saw the fall, claimed no one was even close to her. The girl will be fine, just a sprained wrist, but she handed in her resignation letter yesterday, claiming that the house was, ahem, ‘creeping her out’.”

  “Have you looked into the history of the building? Maybe something similar has occurred before?”

  “We scoured the archives, but those weren’t exactly helpful. We even went to a couple of churches, but every exorcist we invited so far came, looked around, and said we were being overly dramatic or seeing things or whatever,” Lord Marcus dismissively waved his hand. “Even your Cardinal Whitesand saw nothing.”

  “There could be a thousand completely reasonable explanations for the things you’ve described so far,” Charlotte said carefully. “Someone’s death, especially violent, always comes as a shock.”

  “Oh, we thought that, too,” Lord Marcus readily agreed. “Listen, our youngest brother is the only one with a wild imagination. I and Simon both tried to find reasonable explanations. Pranks, someone wanting us to sell the house for cheap now that the old man is gone, someone unhappy with Mr Brook’s arrest…”

  “You think that could be the case?”

  “How should I know? That was one of the theories.”

  “You’ve asked some church people to look into it, but have you also reported the issues to the city guard?”

  “They couldn’t find anything, either,” Lord Simon uttered. “And we made sure they examined everything thoroughly, not just went from room to room looking around like they were on an excursion.”

  Charlotte kept a straight face, though she had to admit that the imagery was quite amusing.

  “So no traps, hidden devices, spells that weren’t supposed to be there…”

  “None of that,” Lord Marcus replied firmly.

  “Let me see if I understand this right. It all began after your father’s death, around 5 February or a bit later, when you stopped following whatever rules he told you to follow. First it was a couple of misplaced items, then doors opening and closing on their own, then weird noises, until finally a maid fell down the stairs, injuring her wrist. And now the staff and, I take it, your younger brother, are claiming the house has an eerie vibe to it.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “What about your sister? If I remember correctly, you had one?”

  “She’s married and moved out years ago,” Lord Marcus helpfully replied. “She sometimes comes to visit… Well, same thing with me, obviously. I don’t live here, either.”

  “Ah. However, you’ve experienced the haunting?”

  “On a few occasions, when Simon talked me into spending the night after I… Uh… Had one too many.”

  “I’m not here to judge your drinking mishaps,” Charlotte said firmly.

  “I wasn’t that drunk,” Lord Marcus’s laughter filled the room, a deep roar more akin to a lion than a man. “I mean, I was drunk, but not drunk enough to imagine things.”

  “What did you see? And when?”

  “It was about a week ago. I got up to get some water when I noticed the chair next to the writing desk slightly move on its own. I thought it was some weird way the moon was shining into the room that created that illusion. You know, us humans don’t exactly boast good night vision. But then it moved across the entire room, almost slamming into me. I barely had time to get out of its way. It stopped maybe an inch away from the wall. That’s where I also found it in the morning. Before that I was certain it was just a nightmare or something.”

  “And yet, none of the clerics…”

  “None. We’ve invited people from your church, the Church of the Golden Moon, Church of the Lady of Magic, the Lord of Justice… You name a god, we’ve asked their followers for help, and every single one of them came here, said a few words in a language or other, examined the attic and the basement, and found nothing wrong. I saw that they were taking their task seriously, not thinking they could make easy money off a bunch of aristocratic brats. But if it’s not a prank and not a haunting, then what is it?”

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she shrugged, getting up. “Mind showing me around? Specifically places where the activity is highest. Including the servants’ quarters, if need be.”

  “Why do you think…”

  “Do you pay your servants well, Lord Welz?”

  “I hope so. Don’t want to be thought of as stingy.”

  “Falling down the stairs is scary, but is it scary enough to try and resign when the pay is good and you know that it might be hard to find another position? Is ‘that house was haunted, so I quit’ a good explanation for a potential employer?”

  “When you put it like that,” Lord Simon, too, got up. “I guess we can start with Marcus’s room and continue from there.”

  “I’ll wait for you here,” Lord Marcus moved over to another armchair, closer to the fire, and stretched his legs out. “Don’t think you need a second guide.”