We step from bnd, tidy uniformity to warm light and cramped halls. The walls are a soft green, the floors are plush and carpeted... they've even got Fire Crystal mps that flicker like real candles.

  The door shuts behind us with a smug click. Smug Gods-damned door. What’d they even put on that thing?

  I follow Ulrich down the hall, step over four different pairs of boots, and peer into the open doors on either side. One side is a dusty looking “hosting” room— plenty of sofas, tables, and far too many pillows. Enough to spill out onto the floor, which seems a bit dangerous with the firepce at the back of the room.

  The other side has about ten tables around the edge of a room, all of which are crammed with beled... stuff. Armor, swords, piles of brass rivets, and what looks to be a march-long bar of alchemical steel. Same stuff as my armor and knife, actually; damned expensive and worth every coin. Gods, they’ve got a prototype hand cannon... well, no, they have the parts of one, spread out across a table.

  There’s also a handful of contraptions I outright can’t put a name to, nor could I determine their purpose. They looked quite eborate, though.

  Stepping over... more boots, and a pair of slippers, I enter the kitchen. Water pump and spigot over a sink, counter space, enchanted icebox, charcoal stove, and a table. There's windows in the back that look out on a well-kept little park, and sunlight pours out of them and onto the table. Everything is just a little dinged, a little scratched... so, well-used. Lived in, I suppose? I don't quite know why it's so interesting to me.

  Still, I drag my focus back to more pertinent things. Eyeing them up and down, I pass over the apron, clothes, and boots. They'd given Wind to the door, and they're clearly more than just competent with enchantments if they can make a door overwhelm my strength. And yet... not a hint of something different about them, honestly. Elizabeth hides her feathers well, and maybe Ulrich is in a simir position.

  "Are you a Mageblood too?" I frown. "Mage, even? I feel like I would've heard more about you before now."

  Ulrich snorts, resting their palms on the table. "Looking for a tail, Drakeblood? Special ears, maybe? We're not all as changed as you. By the Hero, I could have horns and hooves, you’d think me unchanged.”

  "Not really," I frown, pausing long enough to meet their eyes. "So, Mage?"

  "Are alchemists Mages? Are apothecaries Mages?"

  Gelson clears her throat just as I say, “Fair enough.”

  She looks at me, I look back and nod. She hums, working her jaw. “Legally, alchemists and potionmakers are craftspersons, not Mages. Mir Bckwood, we have some questions about a box you made for Dame Crawford’s family.”

  That’s enough for Ulrich’s entire posture to change. Straighter back, clenched fingers, narrowed eyes that seek to dig right through my own.

  "They had another child? Another daughter?" Ulrich grumbles, not taking an eye off me. They cross their arms, fingers drumming on a forearm. "Markus always talked about his two children. Markus the younger and Olivia. No, one of them changed their names. I don't recognize you. Couldn’t be bothered to pay in full, so why would Markus bother to be more specific? Bah."

  I grimace, and Gelson sighs. When she says nothing, I pick up the thread. "He had two daughters, yes. Nothing else. Olivia and me. Ivy.”

  "Oh. Oh! Bother that, I don't keep up with the news." They huff again. "Shouldn't give children a bel till they decide it themselves, I say... but this is more Crawford business. I’d hoped to be rid of it, so let’s get it over with.”

  “Yes.” Gelson agrees readily. She scans for a chair, finds a stool, and drags it over. We both watch as she rustles through her back, then removes the blueprint we'd found the night before.

  As it turns out, Ulrich's expression was capable of going to dourer depths. A hundred marches down, from the furrow of their brow and the wrinkles folding around their mouth. Their eyes flicker like lightning through clouds, and the silence begins to stretch. I can't help but tap my tail against the floor; tack, tack, thump.

  “Your father never paid me the full fee for this,” they decre, voice low and coarse. A rough nail, bruised purple, taps the center of it. “Offered six hundred gold, half before, half after. Twice my usual rate, for an unusual box. Enchanted against you, then, Drakeblood.”

  “Me.” I repeat the word, utterly unsurprised. My fingers dig into the wood of the table, and I just barely stop myself from doing something foolish. Still, my words rumble out, halfway to a snarl. “Not Olivia? Goddess, I know they didn't trust me, but that far back?”

  I growl, peeling my lips back to bare my teeth to the world.

  “Just you, Drakeblood.”

  “Would you use my name if I said it again?” That comes out as a full snarl, but I cut it off after the first few words. Can't sh out here, Ivy, we have questions.

  “Bah. Fine, but don't expect me to remember it.”

  “Ivy,’’ I offer, despite them being far from respectable. “Think of it as spiting Markus Crawford.”

  That's enough to make their eyes gleam, and a harsh chuckle erupts from their throat. “Ha! Ivy, then.”

  I grin, all teeth and fangs, but it's time to be more in line with a detective than a mountain drake. I catch Gelson’s eye, nod, and when she tilts her head, I just shrug and speak.

  “Good. Now, you said it was enchanted against me, specifically, and my father didn't pay the full amount. Why didn't he pay the full amount?”

  I'd ask about the enchantments first if it made sense, and Adamantine, I pray for some clear answers. But the pay is probably easier to start with. Proper detective-ing. Detecting?

  “He dragged out paying the rest, after I'd delivered it. Said he had ‘too much going on', some nonsense. You get a third of our taxes!” They sigh. “And then...”

  “And then?” Gelson straightens.

  “He died. Caught something and died with his idiot wife, right?” They frown, leaning further forward and gesturing towards the box sketch. “Bother.”

  My mind is churning before they've finished speaking, barrelling down the tracks. Nothing in the records showed how close to his death the box had been— and yet, he'd taken the time to will it to the Church. Possibly in the same shoddy proceeding that he willed the Crawford Estate to the Church, even. Special attention, special interest, and...

  A low growl roils out of my chest. “After I told him I'd burn everything he built. Of course.”

  “Ha! Maybe save enough to finish paying me, Ivy.” Ulrich chuckles, cutting it short and growing serious. “But don't waste my time. Get on with your questions.”

  “We already knew it was something Sir Crawford wanted to protect from you.” Gelson picks up the thought, fingers drumming against her bound notebook. She flips it open, removes a pen from her bag, shakes it, and starts writing. “I would have preferred to know you threatened him. No matter. Mir Bckwood—”

  “Ulrich. What are you, a tax collector?”

  “Ulrich,” she stresses in response, lips ticking downward. “Could you tell us about the enchantments?”

  Ulrich looks down at the paper, then back at Gelson. My tail taps against the floor once more, and I find a stool to drag over and sit on. Any chair that lets my tail swing freely is a decent chair... and this stool seems entirely stable, unlike most of their number.

  “Even what archetypes it's resistant to could be helpful.” I add to Gelson's words, shrugging. “My parents did look into channeling Sun, after all.”

  “Wind, Ice, and Fire,” Ulrich responds immediately, cocking their head. “You look like you use Wind and Lightning, though.”

  “I do, well spotted. Fire never agreed with me, but I was trying at the time.” And that always rankled. Fire is a magic of change, of heat, of rebellion. The amount of force I could've delivered with a blow, heating air till it shimmered and bsting everything to pieces? It would have been perfect. “And you're...”

  I pause, shaking my head. “Nevermind. So, the enchantments?”

  “I can't remember. It was years ago, and this old head of mine can't fit everything.” They pause, and start again just as Gelson is opening her mouth. “Bother. Wait here.”

  And Ulrich walks off to the corner of the kitchen, leaning down and pulling up a trapdoor. We watch as they climb down the dder, grumbling about their knees the whole way.

  “Hm. Would the resistances matter? Does it inform the contents?” Gelson scribbles something down, turning to me. Her eyes gleam, but her expression is as ft as always.

  “Complicated, and while I know a bit about enchanting, it's not something I took more than one css on.” And I know immediately that it's not an answer Gelson would take, so I raise a hand to stall her question. “Usually, you're directing magic into a structure so it can carry out a specific task, or tossing chunks of will-directed magic at the target. Both are much easier to do with an Archetype, like Wind or Lightning, rather than raw magic. So if the box resists and disrupts Wind, it’ll break down Wind-based structures and resist attacks from Wind on its own.”

  I feel like I should put my hands down on a desk, or something equally professorial, after a miniature lecture like that.

  “I see. Would that affect you?” Gelson tilts her head.

  “No,” I snort. I pour magic into my eyes, shifting my irises to a radiant orange and narrowing my own pupils for a moment. “Two grand march Delver. I've got more than enough on hand.”

  “I see.” More scribbling. “So he didn't expect you to be a Delver?”

  “Ah.” I taste the air, releasing the magic on my eyes. I don't really care to pour my heart out to a detective, even if I think she's more friend than acquaintance. “That's a personal question. Not important.”

  She stares, gleaming eyes sharpening for a heartbeat. The moment passes, though, and she nods. “Acceptable. And does it give you an indication of the contents?”

  My immediate instinct is to say no. Enchanting things against Wind is common enough— the Manor is steeped in things like that. That weird broom and dustpan too, possibly, but there's no telling when it comes to eccentric magic.

  But this isn't just a question. It's more detective work, and so I give it some thought. “I'll have to think about it. Obviously, it's something he wanted solved and opened normally, not just broken through. Fire and Ice together means it wouldn't be easy to break the box through making it brittle, so... hm.”

  I drum my fingers on the table, and my tail ccks against the floor.

  “You need to know more?” Gelson guesses, pursing her lips. “I certainly do.”

  “I don't think we're talking about the same kind of need.” I reply wryly, fshing a smirk. She doesn't flinch this time. “Unless you mean two sorts at once?”

  “Or three,” she agrees, running a hand through curly bck hair. Her eyes look past me, and a moment ter I can hear the creak of an old hinge. “Time to find out. Perhaps they have a record?”

  “Better. Worse, if you're sensible.” Ulrich grunts, peering out from the trapdoor. They drop a strange brass-and-wood box to the floor with a cck. “Always build a cheaper test piece, with things like this.”

  “That's the original version of the puzzle box,” I say, tapping my tail against the floor. “That's—”

  “Excellent.” Gelson cuts in. “May we—”

  “Bother. Be patient, detective, let me get my paperwork.” And then they pop back down, leaving us alone once again.

  I snort, rising from my stool, and soon my amusement bubbles into a chuckle. “That's as good as we'll get, isn't it.”

  I stride over and get to inspecting it, because yes, I am impatient. Gelson follows, obviously.

  The box is... pin. Disappointingly, smugly so. It is not a pretentious lump of woven vines tangled in brass like the drawing— no, it is elegant. Polished hardwood, rounded like the case of an instrument. Brushed brass along the seams, bck with golden fringes. Each part is obvious, each sliding element and twisting knob is id bare and blunt.

  It almost feels like cheating.

  I could go about solving it, maybe, and I'm quite tempted. But, when the puzzle is nearly the length of my forearm on its longest edge, and half that in the other two directions, I'd be here for a while.

  “Let's not do this on the floor,” I decide, picking it up without effort. “Any thoughts, Gelson?”

  “Hm.” Gelson says, helpful as ever. “Do you sense anything?”

  “That’s not really how it...” I pause, returning to the table and setting the box down. My tail makes a series of satisfying taps as I walk. “Let me check, properly.”

  With that, I y my hand on the box. Magic binds to will, will takes shape, and I pour it—

  I don't pour it. Rather, it doesn't pour. It slicks off the surface like water on a leaf, scattering before being drawn back into my hand. After the twinge of irritation, I'm just impressed, honestly.

  “It's certainly magic resistant. I could force myself through—” I do some rough estimates in my head, measuring the magic I'd used against my upper limits. It's a bit tricky, because output against resistance is something of a curve. “—but it'd take a fair bit of effort.”

  “So it's possible. We'll wait for Ulrich to tell us more.” She leans in, running her hand along the box. “Any clue we can get as to its contents, its particurs, and Sir Crawford's intent would be significant.”

  And Gods am I curious about all of those things. My father hid something from me. He protected it from me, giving it to the damned Church he wanted to sign the Estate to.

  If I'd learned that five years ago? I would've tried to take it back. Now, I just want to make sure nothing nefarious happens to it... more than it already has.

  Rather than say that, I grunt, watching as Gelson explores the box. Her hand catches on a section, tugging it and sliding it to expose... Another section of wood.

  “Unsurprising.” Gelson says calmly, sliding the box over to prod at it further.

  “That you'd start prodding instantly?” Ulrich rises up out of the trapdoor, grumpy and grumbling. There's no heat to their words, though. “Bah. Children, the both of you. What am I, a toymaker?”

  “Puzzles can be toys.” I smirk, fshing a grin. It fades when Ulrich twitches, but not entirely. “So, what've you got?”

  “No patience at all, you two. What are you, twenty?” Ulrich raises an eyebrow, staring levelly at me as they walk over and drop a pile of parchment on the table. It scatters across, spreading out to fill the surface with a few pages attempting to escape onto the floor. “Should’ve kept one of those two desks I sold to the Church. Hmph, I’ll just enchant this table the same way.”

  Ignoring their grumbling, I grin, all teeth and predatory cheer. “True enough, but we have reason to be impatient. Now, the enchantments? The size of the interior?”

  “Specution on the contents?” Gelson adds, humming.

  “Still don't like it.” Ulrich concludes, nodding to themselves. “Now, the contents...”

  “Yes?” I lean in, and I can hear Gelson doing the same. Feel it, even, as she brushes against my tail.

  “Not a clue.” Ulrich drops onto a stool, and I feel a spike of irritation to match.

  “Bleh,” I say with a huff. “Nothing at all?”

  “It's a waterproofed and velvet lined chamber. What do you want from me, the key? A prophecy?”

  “No, I want—” I stop my words with a thump of my tail.

  “A key? It's a puzzle box.” Gelson overtakes me, voice ft even as her leg bounces up and down.

  “You didn't know?” Ulrich reaches into their apron, removing a small brass key. They sound utterly baffled, eyebrows raised, lips curled in a frown. “Solve the puzzle, unlock the box. It'd be idiotic to protect something in a box anyone can open.”

  “I think that's worse,” I say, growling a little. My tail taps a rhythm against the floor, growing a bit sore as the tip flexes repeatedly. “Even more yered security? Gods.”

  Ulrich huffs. Gelson sighs, tapping their pen against the table and toying with the scattered parchments.

  “Dame, do you recall if any keys were distributed in Sir Crawford's will?”

  “I was already thinking about that,” I nod along, thoughts distant. I'd gotten a good look at it while looking for evidence st night, after all.

  And, with the Goddess as my witness, nothing jumps out. Nothing to point us to whomever inevitably has my father's key, someone who either knows the contents of the box or would benefit greatly from them. The likelihood of the box being wealth or paperwork sinks; the chance of it being dangerous rises. I just hope I don't drown in it.

  My hands flex against the table. Even a hint of magic, and my cws would dig deep into the wood.

  “I doubt it,” I grunt, looking away. “Can we discuss the enchantments, then? Might be helpful.”

  The only helpful thing is that Ulrich clearly enjoys talking about their enchantments. And it does pass the time, I suppose...

  “We're looking for someone who Sir Crawford may have passed the key to. Likely a Mage or able to hire Mages, unless there's another motive at py we can't yet ascertain.”

  The train's whistle forcibly punctuates Gelson's words, shrill and pervasive. It churns, audible but not visible, marked by the trail of glimmering steam it spews into the sky. I watch its progress over the rooftops in silence, my thoughts running wild.

  “There is,” I say, pausing. My tail skitters across the cobbled stone, clicking and ccking. “There has to be more to this. Maybe my presence spooked someone. Maybe it's something Helena knows, and we'll have to wait until she confesses.”

  “You're sure she will?”

  I hesitate, but I nod. “I think she will.”

  Gelson stares at me. Properly stares, too— brown eyes boring into my skull. It's enough for my lips to curl in answer, holding her gaze.

  “Alright.” She nods at me, turning away. She starts walking down the road, and I follow. “We know the inevitable destination of the box— the key's current owner, meaning someone who, likely, would've had access. We determined it'd be too challenging to simply force through the enchantments, correct?”

  That's enough for me to turn that half-snarl into a grin. “Back to the Church tomorrow?”

  “Back to the Church tomorrow. We'll take a look at the vault interior. You've got that dinner to attend with—”

  “With Winnie, yeah,” I nod, catching up to Gelson with a few big strides. “And I'll ask him what he knows.”

  “Hm. Yes. Shall we convene at the same location?”

  Obviously, I say yes. Gelson may not be a friend, but... I think I'm looking forward to this.

  After all, tomorrow, I'll get let into the rectory vault, and I won't even have to break in!

  Origami_Narwhal