I walked the stairs leading down to the first floor level and into the street. The sun that had stirred me this morning was beginning to be over taken by a thick blanket of blackish grey clouds. It looked like soon there would be rain falling over the city. The street though was hopelessly crowded with people. I was used to it at this point. Five years of living in this part of the city had taught me to move with the crowd quietly and quickly. The Market District had been my home since I joined the Guard. The plethora of shops varying from Smithies, Alchemy labs, Clothing stores, and Book stores had intrigued me when I was a child. Even though everything I wanted was handed to me by my parents or rather the number of servants we had at the time the hustle and bustle of the city was where my heart seemed to live. Since I moved to the Market District I had only been home once. There was no love lost between me and my parents when I joined the Guard but with my schedule and the idea of being looked down upon by the other Upper Residential occupants for choosing a lifestyle below the one I grew up with was enough to keep me away from casual visits. I made my way through the crowds of people, passing all the stores, vendors, and beggars that accosted me as I moved by them. I exited the gate leading from the Markets towards the “rich district” and a large gathering of black clad men; I knew where I needed to go.
When I arrived at the mansion I noticed it was in a state of disrepair. No one had lived in it since I was a small child. The Denisons were another one of the affluent families that used to run the city. Lord Denison who had given himself that title died under mysterious circumstances while he was in perfect health. Everyone suspected his oldest daughter but no one could prove that she had done anything. After she was questioned by the Guard and sent on her way she took her inheritance and moved to the country with her husband. I hear they own a plantation now. But when Leo and I were kids the story of Lord Denison’s demise only fueled the already existent rumors that the house was haunted. No one went near the place and kids would say they spent the night the night there to show their bravery and impress girls, no one ever believed them though, just kids trying to secure some sort of minor fame. Ever since Lord Denison had died no one took claim to the now derelict mansion surrounded by guardsmen. It’s run down and dreary appearance most likely still filled the rumors that the place was inhabited by beings of a spectral variety.
The crowd of guards surrounding the house was larger than I had first assumed. About twenty officers stood in a loosely formed group all speaking to one another. Each of them had a pale pallid expression on their faces and their hushed voices drifted through the air as the first drops of rain began to fall around the scene. There were a few new young faces I recognized as deputy guardsmen, greener than the Queens emeralds, but the other men were seasoned Officers and Investigators that had carried their badge and sword long before I had joined a little over five years ago. There was something in that house more ghastly and wrong than the murder that was reported. I could feel it before I placed a toe inside. As I made my approach to the house a short portly man in a black uniform slightly different from the rest of the guards started in my direction as was custom I locked my legs together and held my right arm up in a salute. “Commissioner.” My voice was stern and clear. The Commissioner gave a dismissive wave of his hand and scoffed. His voice shook gently but kept its usual demanding tone.
“Oh enough with the pleasantries, Harland, its bad enough I have to wear the damned uniform.” Ever since Barnabas Gaffy went from Captain to Commissioner, he expressed his disdain for the position almost immediately in the most vocal way he could. Gaffy in his middle age was one of the few men who didn’t lose his talent for investigation as he got on in years. In fact some would say that he only became better at his job. The Commissioner was a man of action who thrived on the thrill of perusing felons and locking them up where they wouldn’t scar the outreach of Dunwell’s fine reputation. That being said, it wasn’t shocking to see him at the scene of the crime, he most likely arrived before anyone else did.
