"So," you start, "are we talking blackmail, or extortion, or…"
"Um," Ellery says, "no offense, but if it were, why would I tell you? You're— godsdamn, I don't even know, um, some girl? Here for the newspaper, or whatever? Before last week I'd seen you maybe, shit, uh, twice. Two times." He leans back. "And you think that because you bust into my tent and read all my belongings you're, what— trustworthy? Reliable? That make sense to you?"
"Ell, come on. Fuck her." Madrigal steps forward. "I'll tell Charlotte to fuck off. To forget this. But you can— surely— you have to tell me."
He closes his eyes. "It's not that easy."
"You're a rat bastard, Ellery." Her tone is affectionate. "And an idiot. You think it's gonna put me in danger? Is that the issue? Because god knows, Ellery, I need some danger. I'm going nuts in this fucking place."
"What'd you call it," he murmurs. "Bucolic?"
"Yeah! It's bucolic. It's godawful. So if you broke up with me because you pissed off a witch doctor or something… please tell me, okay? Please? I want to skewer a witch doctor, Ellery."
He manages a grim little snort. "It's not a witch doctor."
"Well, I'll take anything. Is it the Court again? Because they have jackshit on you, Ell; we already dealt with that—"
"No, it's— nobody's threatening me. Sorry. I'll let you know if they do."
Seizing the moment, you jump in: "Is it bribery, then? Racketeering?"
?Racketeering's the same thing as extortion.?
"No, it's… look, I didn't mean 'can't tell you' in a figurative sense, okay? Is that clear enough?"
?Oh.?
?Interesting.?
It still takes you a moment. "You literally can't—"
"What did I say about the boots? Huh?" Madrigal's exhortation appears to be directed at the both of you. "What the fuck is it this time, Ellery? You sign a contract that takes 'binding' really seriously?"
?Not actually a bad guess.?
"If I knew, Maddie, I'd have dealt with it already." Ellery raises his hands. "But I don't! I don't know. It's just how it is. Would you like to watch me try to tell you?"
?Yes.?
"Yes," you say, at the same time Madrigal says "oh, what the hell?"
"Alright, then." Ellery looks straight ahead, brow slightly furrowed. And then he coughs.
You have to make sure. "Did you start?"
"Yes, Lottie, I started. What did you expect not saying anything to look like?"
Some struggle, preferably. A single tear, optimistically. "Uh, nevermind."
"Okay then." Ellery folds his hands. "Is that all?"
You glance at Madrigal, who appears conflicted. "No," you say. "Is the whole amnesia thing related?"
He shrugs.
"Do you only not remember yesterday, or are there other— do you remember the whole expedition?" It might be better if he didn't, frankly.
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then: "Yeah? There were alligators and skeletons and, uh, so on. Lots and lots of alligators. And Dib."
"What?"
"Uh." He blinks hard. A little black dribbles from the corner of his mouth. "L— Lucky. The Wind Court guy. Sorry, I must be mixing up— Lucky."
It's not as if you remember the man's name, either, so you'll ignore the issue. "Okay, I guess you do remember. Huh."
"It was only a couple days ago."
It seemed like a fair enough question to you. Something is plainly wrong.
?You have to wonder about everything else, don't you, Charlie. If it's all part of the package.?
Yeah. What about…
[Pick ONE of 1-5, and as many as you want of the rest.]
>[1] His blood? It's silver. That's weird. Also, it turned into a mirror(?? or was that coincidence??)
>[2] His writing? It's backwards and upside down. And apparently he does it by accident.
>[3] His black goop? Seriously, what is that?
>[4] His manse? Also, his taste in wallpaper? What was he thinking?
>[5] His memory? Is he *sure* he remembers things? There was a little hesitation there.
>[6] Attempt to rule lawyer the mental block(?). [How?]
>[7] You've gotten all you need, for now. Leave.
>[8] Write-in.
?If it is a contract, there's bound to be loopholes. It's practically a law unto itself.?
You were thinking exactly the same thing. "You can't tell us."
"I can't tell Madrigal." Ellery raises his eyebrows. "I'm not telling you."
"Okay, same thing. But can you tell…" You waggle your hands. "…nobody? Say, if we were to leave the room, but just happened to be lurking outside?"
"Would you be able to hear, though? I mean— you'd probably hear something, but that far away I'm not sure you'd be able to understand? The intelligibility kind of drops like a rock past a few feet, and I assume in this scenario I wouldn't be projecting, so that's even worse— it doesn't seem practical?"
"Um," you say.
"And discounting that, I'd still know I was actually speaking to you, so I doubt I'd fool it-slash-myself. I just really get the feeling it wouldn't—"
"Okay, I get it. God." You're a little put out. "What if you wrote it down? I've got, uh—" You shuffle through your stack of papers. "You can do it on the back of—"
Ellery's already got a 10B pencil and a slim nondescript notebook in his hands. (You're a little more put out.) He wavers over the open page before committing, writing fluently— in the wrong direction, right to left. He presents the page to you.
It's illegible. It's mirrored.
"Uh," you say delicately, before Madrigal can interject, "can you— would you read that for us?"
"Oh." Ellery turns the notebook back around and scratches his cheek. "Sorry, I know my handwriting's kind of shit. Heard it often enough. Uh— 'Doesn't work. Same issue.'"
"Ell—" Madrigal interjects anyways, and you stamp on her foot. "Agh!"
"Could you… mime it, say? Charades?"
"No."
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"You didn't even try," you protest.
"I'm not miming."
You're officially out of your own ideas. But there's one more, which you are certainly not stealing from an antediluvian children's novel. Because it's not a children's novel. That's just what your aunt says. The Splendid Adventures of Josey Hatchcock #14: The Gulch Mystery (Salford BD -70) is classic literature for all ages, and totally valid to steal from. "Well… okay, how's this. You've got something you want to say, but can't say it. So to lead Jos— uh, to lead us to the right conclusion, you construct an elaborate, multistage treasure hunt that leads us to a significant location— say, a gulch— whereupon we read the final clue and discover—"
Well, Josey discovered it was her childhood friend-cum-admirer, and not, as she'd suspected, a ghost, but this doesn't seem entirely accurate. "—well, you know, whatever it is."
"No," Ellery says.
"What?" Madrigal says. "What the hell are you talking about?"
You're officially a lot put out. "I think it would be fun."
?You're putting me through the wringer here, Charlotte.?
Nothing. No response. Ellery closes his eyes.
You've got to say, it does sting.
>[-1 ID: 9/11]
"…I don't think— well, I'm not doing that. But I don't think anything's gonna work, uh, Lottie. It's not— how do I put it." Ellery resumes his finger-drumming. "There's a big glass wall between me and the thing. I can see through it just fine, but I can't access it. Does that make…"
"Where the fuck are you getting enough glass to make a wall of?" Madrigal shakes her head. "Could buy a whole Pillar with that kind of spending—"
It's a weak analogy, for sure. "Can't you just break it? Like, with a rock? Or by saying the wrong thing at it?"
?That much glass in one place would be fatal. You'd be flattened like a daisy in a dictionary. Never would have existed proper.?
"It's a metaphor! Godsdamn!" Ellery crosses his arms. "No, I can't break it with a rock. I don't have a rock. If you'd like to find me a—" He cough-retches. A tablespoon of black goop drips into his hand. (The notebook is gone, if it ever was there.) "Urgh."
"Oh, for god's sake." Madrigal undoes her bandana and shoves it into his hand. "Take this. Are you sick, on top of everything?"
"S… yeah, I think so." He wipes his face, then his palm. "Thanks, Maddie."
"You've got to take care of yourself!"
"I—" He rubs his eye. "I'm working on it."
Madrigal smiles wanly.
"Uh," you say, "are we just going to— I mean, you're not sick, right? You're not sick. Nobody coughs up black gunk when they're sick. They don't even get sick. Have you seen anyone be sick here? Ever? It's the Harper Effect—"
?Clarkman Effect.?
"—Clarkman Effect— it's that, you know? So what's actually up with the gunk, huh? Ellery? Why are you lying again?"
Nothing. Two stares from four eyes. Madrigal breaks the silence this time. "Charlotte… has anyone told you you're kind of a bitch?"
"I—" You scowl. "I'm right!"
"Okay…" Ellery pauses. "So what if you are? I mean— even if I'm sick or not, it doesn't hurt, it's not poison— it's just kind of irritating, is all. So who gives a shit? What does it matter?"
>[1] What does it matter? (Write-in.)
Let's play "pick which write-in is super impactful" with me! Are you ready? Did you spot it?
What does it matter? Well, it doesn't. It's just a glob of something bigger, more… matter-ful, that's been squirming wet in your gut for the past ten-to-sixteen hours. You imagine the stupid fish gape Ellery'd get if you told him. If you told him about the sound. If you told him about the twitching. If you told him about the slithery silver oil-paint blood, how it glistened, and how you held it in your fingers.
?Charlie.?
What? You're fine. You're fine. You're all good, and here, and so on. Gosh. All you were thinking about was how great it'd be if you told Ellery you saw the murder. Not that you'd ever do that.
?Of course not.?
But—
?No.? Richard is cool against your neck. ?You're too smart for that, Charlie, aren't you. Of course you wouldn't.?
He's right, he's right. You wouldn't.
?Yes.?
"Well?" You have taken a conspicuously long time to answer. Ellery taps his fingertips together. "Got anything?"
You smooth down the front of your coat. "I…" You fix your hair. "…take…" You square your posture. "…my investigation seriously, okay? I take it seriously. It's— surely you don't have an issue with that."
Madrigal sighs. Ellery raises his eyebrows. "I mean, when I'm the subject of it, uh—"
"Right, no issues. So when I see Margo blow two holes in you with her shotgun, and you come waltzing back with nary more than a cough— uh, a weird cough, but— I'm worried, okay? I'm concerned about your well-being. Sue me."
"Uh," Madrigal says. "What?"
"Yeah," Ellery seconds. "What?"
?For goodness' sake.?
Were you not convincing enough? "I'm concerned about your well-being! That's what I said."
Madrigal shakes her head. "Say the thing about the shotgun again."
God-damnit. "'So when I see Margo blow two holes in you with her shotgun…'"
"Okay, thanks. Thanks."
A whole storm front of emotion washes its way across her face. You watch in consternation as she squints, unsquints, works her lips up and forward and back wordlessly. And then the front passes, and she looks up at you, untroubled.
"Oh!" she says. "You're pissed I called you a bitch. I gotcha. That was pretty good— you almost got me. What'd you think, Ell…"
Ellery clutches his face in both hands.
"Okay," Madrigal intones. She is rabbit-still. "Okay. Charlotte?"
You have little choice. "…Yes?"
"WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT—" She seizes her hair, holds it at right angles from her scalp. "I— you're shitting me."
You give a nervous shake of your head.
"You're not shitting me. Oh, god. God-fucking-dammit." She blinks rapidly and very hard. "I— GOD! When was this!"
"Eh— ah—" Madrigal is not all that much taller than you, but she looks every inch of it, and her face is an intimidating shade of purple. "I—"
"TELL ME!"
"Yesterday!" What do you do with your hands? You don't know what to do with your hands.
Madrigal's hand goes to her bruise. "Before," she asks perilously, "or after?"
"After! Right— I was going back from—"
"Okay. Okay." Madrigal takes a deep, shaky breath. "And what happened?"
"I was walking— uh, by Tom's Cave— Ellery was talking to Margo—"
"And?"
"She shot— it was the chest, and then the head, when that didn't— it was loud, and there was so much— she shot him. To death."
"Okay. And…" Another deep breath. "…did you do anything about this? Did you tell anybody that you saw Ellery die? You didn't tell me, that's for sure!"
You don't say anything.
"Did you tell Monty?"
You don't say anything.
"Did you tell someone in town?"
You don't say anything.
"For fuck's sake. Did you tell the Courtiers? I mean, they're trigger-happy, but this is something they can actually deal with, you realize?"
You tug at your collar.
"God." Madrigal rubs her forehead. "So— theoretically, this— you thought he was dead, right? I mean— fuck, shot in the head, that's— you must've. You thought you witnessed a murder. And thinking this, you… you sat on this information for, what, a day? A full day? And you bring it out now to what— one-up me? Or him? Is that it?"
You can't say anything.
"You're an actual fucking psychopath, Charlotte."
>[-2 ID: 7/11]
?I wish you were, frankly. It'd make things so much easier.?
You swallow. "I'm— I'm not—"
"Oh? You're not?" Madrigal grins a shark grin. "Then what the fuck were you doing, Charlotte?"
>[1] Write-in! [May require roll!]
Whenever Charlotte isn't suitably reckless enough under her own power, the voters piloting her always make sure to make her say something really dumb. The power of democracy! But it'll be fine, right? Right. Yes. Positive thinking.
BATHIC'S RECOMMENDATION CORNER #14
Behold! Now that you've gone off and played the entire Ace Attorney franchise (you have, haven't you?), you are in an appropriate position to appreciate this brand new Ace Attorney-inspired otome story. WITNESS, with glorious Ace Attorney-style cover art and everything:
Plus: slow-burn romance! I can't tell you whether this is relevant to Drowned Quest. And haughty noblewomen! That one is definitely relevant. Check it out!
If you watched a man get fatally shot and intentionally did nothing about it, and you didn't tell anybody this happened, and then he miraculously came back to life and forgot about being shot, would you, completely of your own volition, for no particular rhetorical purpose, let him and his ex-girlfriend know about your insane dereliction of duty?
