“I’ll get straight to the point, everyone,” a sandy voice cuts across the room, accompanied by the thud of a swinging door. “There’s been a robbery, and I'll need your testimonies.”

  A woman with dark, curly hair strides out, black boots clicking against the floor. She scans across the room, lips curling into a lined frown. When her eyes land on me, her dark wrinkles deepen into an irritated glare...

  A glare I can’t help but snort in response to, loudly dragging my tail across the floor. “Yes, I’m aware, that’s why I’m here. And Chief Jarret had that same expression every time I was arrested,” I say pointedly, crossing my arms. “Glad he retired; I could hear his bones creak from across the room.”

  Elizabeth huffs from her seat, hastily setting down her tea. “Don’t bite, Amelia. Chief Flint is just doing her job.”

  “I am, she won’t, and I don’t intend to arrest you, Dame Crawford.” The now-named Chief Flint laces her fingers together, stretching them downward with a grunt. “Gelson, Tracer, introduce yourselves; you’ve got Priest Dongbaek and Dame Tousavon. I’ll be handling Dame Crawford.”

  And as she speaks, a squarish man and a slight woman step out from behind her, making their ways towards Elizabeth and Dongbaek. Gelson sounds like a last name, so I’m making no guesses as to which is which.

  “Handling me is a bit of a loaded term, isn’t it?” Still, I uncross my arms and gesture at her. She needs a testimony, she’ll get it, and I'll get my bath without too much delay.

  I can't help but be curious, too.

  “It is, but you’ve got a reputation, Dame. Could you come with me?” Chief Flint jerks her chin back behind her, and I follow. Begrudgingly, and with aching muscles, I might add.

  Another snort escapes me before I can stop myself. I mean, she’s right. What would I even say to argue? Don’t judge me for my past actions? Ha!

  But I’m a follower of Adamantine, which people seem to forget. Maybe it rankles my pride— no, it definitely does— but I’m obligated to help in these situations, if I can. I’ll just do the bare minimum and go home.

  “So there’s been a robbery,” I prompt instead, changing paths even as Chief Flint leads me down an unpleasantly familiar hallway. Chalkboards and tack-boards for parchment, notes upon notes upon posters... “How could I actually relate? I’ve been Delving, as you probably know.”

  “Because it was the Church, and it was a former Crawford possession.”

  “Because I was nearby and have a history of taking my things back.”

  We speak nearly at the same time, and Chief Flint gives me an impassive eyebrow-raise. “A fair deduction, Dame Crawford. I wonder if you'd be able to sniff out our culprit on your own?”

  “I'm not a detective, Chief, I just think a lot. But you can't just leave it at that— what happened? Alain wasn’t exactly...” I shrug. “Helpful. He more or less threatened me, which is a bit foolish.”

  “Really?” Chief Flint furrows her brow. “I’ll have to record that. He reported you were nearby, so I suppose it lines up.”

  “And of course I'm a suspect.” I sigh, grimacing as a few muscles twinge. Those purple-robed busybodies can't help but ruin my day; it's practically a mandate from their God at this point. Even their pointed avoidance of me this past week has been annoying, since they sometimes walk out or whisper if they see me going somewhere. Especially obvious once I started poking around for the sealed Delve portal, and the area magically cleared of anything purple within minutes.

  “There’s not much to it, truthfully,” Chief Flint replies, “That's the issue. Only one item of note was taken: a puzzle box, by my understanding. The puzzle box was donated by your family, and nobody can confirm why someone would want it. Priest Dongbaek confirmed the box was present last night before sunset. The vault was sealed, guards were placed; now the box is gone without a trace. Nobody saw anything, and the wards didn’t trip.”

  Without further comment, though, Chief Flint ushers me into her clean, well-lit, and frankly tasteful office. No crammed shelves, no meaningless medals, and there's a pot of plucked wildflowers on her desk. The rug is even pleasant to run my tail across, with thick threads that feel nice and don't catch my scales.

  Hard to be upset about it, really. Way better than the old Chief Jarret's office.

  “Dame Crawford,” she says levelly, striding to her desk and dropping into her chair, “Take a seat. Let’s get your testimony over with.”

  She waves at one of the chairs between me and her desk, and there I find something to actually be disappointed about. They're all sturdy, lightly padded chairs... for normal humans. So, I lay my hand down on one, tilt it so only the corner of one leg touches the floor, and spin the damned thing.

  It's a move I've had to get used to. I drop down into the chair with a pleased grunt, wincing as my sore legs and rear twinge. Leaning into the chair’s back presses my cuirass into my chest a bit uncomfortably. But really, nothing is comfortable after hours in armor, least of all my softer bits.

  I'd much rather be at home, undoing my leathers and writing some rambling report on my Delve.

  “Just call me Dame,” I shrug, crossing my arms across the top of the chair back. “We’ll get out of here faster.”

  Chief Flint pulls out parchment and a metal pen, tapping it into an open inkwell and writing something down. “We’re in agreement, and Dame it is. Where were you last night?”

  “At home. Crawford Manor,” I say, picking my way through my recent memories. “Preparing for today's Delve. Gear takes work to maintain.”

  “And the Delve was successful, I hear, thank you,” Flint nods approvingly, curly hair bobbing. “Going further back, where were you from lunch through dinner? I'll need specifics to verify your presence.”

  I shift in my seat, grimacing as bits of armor poke into my hips and waist. Every bit of me wants to be stretched, and slightly further than my gear allows. Gods, I need to go home.

  “Crawford Manor,” I repeat, focusing on the task. Just give her the testimony, Ivy, exonerate yourself, and go home. And then they can be productive by catching the thief, as much as I dislike the Church and everyone in it. If I had an inkling of the thief's identity, I'd catch them myself, even. Thievery is rarely just, and the irony of that thought isn't lost on me.

  Chief Flint opens her mouth, but I cut her off.

  “And before that, I went into town and purchased alchemical brass rivets. I can give you the name of the craftsman, even. What’s left to say?” Drumming my claws against the seat, I sigh— a low, rumbling sound that rolls through my chest like any growl would.

  “We’re nearly done, Dame,” Chief Flint nods, pausing to frown again. “We don't have unbiased evidence of your location last night, but I sincerely doubt you would have subtly broken into the Vault. Your history and proximity are the only things pointing to you, but those are large somethings.”

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  I roll my neck. Ugh, I'll need a compress or something, it's starting to lock up.

  “My history is that I stole everything that was legally mine back from the Church. Didn’t even touch anything specifically willed to them. And there's nothing subtle about me these days, is there?” I spread my arms wide and pull my tail around so it's in full view. “Can I go?”

  “Not quite, but-”

  “Not quite?” I grumble, bringing my arms back down. “Get on with it.”

  She inclines her head, then gestures to me broadly. “You're a Delver, Dame. You cut... holes, portals, and you are without a doubt the strongest Mageblood of any sort in the city. Someone stole a puzzle box from a closed vault. Therefore, in the eyes of the law, you are suspicious.”

  “What.”

  Twice in one day! Incredible.

  That's not how Delves work. At all! Delves make it possible to cut holes, and even if I opened one, I couldn't just pop out somewhere else in the World! Well, without a Delveway, and those are rarer than constables that don’t waste my time.

  My tail lashes across the rug. I probably shouldn't mention my parents did research on Delveways, and using the old Imperial ones to travel. Never figured out where they wanted to go, either, if anywhere at all. They’d even figured out how to open Delves... though they’d never mastered it. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have gotten themselves sucked into one and died.

  But one thing still sticks out.

  “What does that mean for me? I've answered your questions. You’ve got nothing suggesting I’m the thief.” I push up off the chair, and ow Goddess so sore damn it all I need more swears. “Don't dance around it: you want something from me.”

  “What I want is for this investigation to go smoothly, Dame,” Chief Flint tilts her chin up, rising from her seat and resting her hands on the desk. She meets my eyes, not even flinching at my low growl. “But you will be accompanied for the duration of the investigation. You're an obvious suspect to most, and the strongest Mage in Craumont to boot. Leaving you unwatched for weeks while we solve this would be irresponsible, no matter how short-handed it leaves us. So, I've assigned a detective, Gelson, to shadow you... But.”

  She pauses, her shoulders roll, and she takes a long, deep breath.

  “It'd waste time. Any Delving would be suspect, travel would raise questions. Given your famous dislike of the city, it'd delay you leav—”

  “Get to the point, Flint.” I cut her off, raising my voice. I take a few steps towards the door; if the tactic can work on my cousin, it’ll work on this woman, too. “You’re already wasting my time. After a Delve, no less.”

  My tail flicks from side to side, slapping the rug at the bottom of each arc. It's a slow and steady rhythm, despite my frustration. She doesn't need to know I'm staying in town— a piece in my hand, rather than hers.

  “Or, this could be mutually beneficial, Dame Cr— ah, Dame. Accompany my detective to her work, help her sniff out what mundane senses can't. Shadow them, instead of them shadowing you.” Her smile twists, eyes still gleaming. “It’ll help clear your name, seeing you go along with it.”

  It's not a question, exactly, but it serves the same purpose. Her words hang in the air.

  My instinct, of course, is to say no. To growl out the aches in my body, and storm out. I’ve done my best to be polite, and she's stretched my patience thin with this nonsense.

  But instinct isn't everything, and she might just have a good plan, unfortunately. A detective shadowing me would be inconvenient at best. Playing along, though... I'd be rid of them sooner. I'd get to keep my name clear. And, by Adamantine, I might get to catch a thief.

  I might even have fun.

  “You talk too much, Chief Flint, and I’m tempted to just walk away. But I'll help your detective.” I smile at her, keeping my teeth hidden and rubbing my sore neck with one hand. “On one condition.”

  That gets the Chief to hesitate, and I can’t help but grin. Her suffering is a balm to my own.

  “Name it, and we'll negotiate.” She says after a pause, squaring her jaw. “But I won't compromise anyone's integrity.”

  I lock eyes with her. “Can you send them up to the Manor? I need to take a bath.”

  Her exasperated expression is so very worth it.

  I got my bath.

  No. I'm getting my bath. My body can unspool, the grit jammed in my tail is drifting out... hot water, soap, and a touch of magic can do wonders. Benny even bought my favorite herbal soap from town, once again proving that Benny is the best.

  Visitor at the gates, the walls whisper, words easing gently into my fogged mind. Knocking. Wandering.

  My eyes creak open, glaring into the ceiling.

  “Uugh,” I reply with all the eloquence I can manage. My tail slaps the water in a vague show of defiance, splattering droplets all over my face. “Yes, I know. Let her in. Let Benny know for me?”

  Rung the bell, my Manor murmurs.

  Humming, I pour my own magic into the Manor as thanks. I should probably get out of the baths soon, yes, but the call of warmth and coziness is strong. Why get out, when I can stay here? Away from whatever plans Chief Flint has, and away from Detective Gel-something.

  Gelwyn. Geldon. Gelleson? Ugh. My temporary ball and chain will introduce herself when I see her.

  ...No, that’s rude. She’s here to tail me, pun intended, and I’ll lend my admittedly limited expertise. Might even get to catch a thief, see how guilty they actually are. And no matter what the result is, I’ll need to get out of the bath before Gel-something gets here.

  Water streams off me as I rise, tracing the lines and curves of my body. Muscles ripple and uncoil, my body eases back to readiness, and a soft groan escapes before I can really think about it. I stretch my arms first, one after the other, canting my hips to balance and flicking my tail to help dry it off.

  Then comes the legs, one out to the side and the other under me as I lunge. Switch sides, stretch again, stand up, roll my shoulders back to stretch out my core muscles. I flick a few errant drops of water off my breasts, but they're just replaced by more from my hair, so I give up on that.

  There's nothing quite like a good stretch after a hard day, and I revel in the sensations. Joints relax, muscles ease, and a pleased groan rumbles deep in my chest. A final curl of my tail un-knots the aching muscles down there, and Gods it feels glorious.

  But I can't stand here naked forever, with damp skin and a creeping chill that prickles at my skin. Suppressing a shiver, I hastily grab a towel to start patting myself down.

  I go through the motions, and thoughts of my incoming problem spill back.

  Why did someone rob the Church? Is it a coincidence that it happened while I'm here? What exactly was I agreeing to, by helping Chief Flint?

  What was the Church doing with— what was it again? A puzzle box? Might be an old Crawford relic, one of the ones the Church kept, but that just pushes the question back to my thankfully very dead parents. Ugh.

  I can only speculate, even if there are some obvious possibilities... possibilities that wouldn't involve Chief Flint wanting my help.

  “I don't suppose you know anything?” I ask the Manor, snorting.

  The Manor, unsurprisingly, remains silent.

  “And our guest?”

  Five minutes. Moving quickly.

  Oh, they walk fast. The winding path up to the Manor isn't pleasant on the knees, and... “Actually, is she on a horse?”

  On horse. Needs stable.

  And then, after a pause, opened stable.

  Chuckling at the strange confirmation, I dry off my chest and head out the door. One hand catches my white button-up, freshly washed, and I swing my tail around to pull my trousers off the rack.

  Doesn't quite work. My flailing tail drops the trousers to the ground— oops— and I'm too distracted to button up correctly. Let's try that again... if I can just, hook my tail under the trousers, pull them up, I can hang—

  Okay, fine. I'll just put everything on normally, no multitasking. No fussing over this detective, and definitely no worrying about whatever Chief Flint has planned. Her offer was hardly a complicated one, after all.

  I button my trousers above the tail hole and give up on my blouse for now; I keep buttoning up wrong, and it's hard to focus when I'm also rushing down the hall.

  Moments later, I'm in the main lobby. A small serving tray with honey and milk floats by, but there's no tea on the table. Teacups, yes, and hopefully of the same set as the pot.

  “Benny! Is the tea ready?” I call out, vaguely towards the kitchen. “She's on horseback.”

  “Almost, madam,” their voice carries back through the door, “A floral tea, given the hour. Will the horse be a regular visitor, madam?”

  The image of a horse sipping tea is enough to make me snort. Running a hand through my hair, I shrug. Wait, no, they can't see that.

  “This is the detective, and maybe she'll bring a horse every time? Unless she is the horse, in which case definitely.”

  “My lady,” Benny's voice goes flat, suddenly louder as the doors swing open. They have a serving tray, this one with a teapot and napkins, and it does nothing to hide their unimpressed glare. “The Manor would surely have specified. We lack centaurs in this area.”

  “Most places lack centaurs,” I mutter, stifling a giggle. Clearing my throat, I add, “No, it said she was on the horse. Why were you asking again?”

  “To arrange for food, madam. Hay and raw turnips, generally. And please button your blouse before you expose yourself to our guest?”

  “Yes, yes...” I wave them off with a grin, rolling my shoulders. “Get the tea settled, Benny. I'll worry about the guest.”

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  Infernal Investigations by Saithorthepyro! An intriguing fantasy story set further forward in time than we usually see, under the heel of awful monarchies and with a lot of very cool magic. Also features a cute protagonist in way, way over her head. It's a different vibe from my work, but I highly recommend giving it a look-see.