An Explosion At First Light - Chapter 2

West Gallahart almost seemed like a completely different world compared to the East. There was no chaos here. People didn’t walk like they needed to be somewhere. And everyone was impeccably dressed. You would never find groups of youngsters talking, gossiping and making merry on the pavement or in the alleys – blocking the way and getting yelled at. The young masters of the West restricted that to their own houses. Or in the very many polished cafes and restaurants in the West. The streets were clean. For those who lived in the West did not eat or drink anything in the streets. Nobody was begging. There certainly weren’t any shifty characters lurking in the alleys offering riches from a distant land for a mere pittance. Said alleys were even fitted with light crystals at regular intervals. So no one had to fear the alleys at night. The houses were all painted and even that paint wasn’t cracked or dirty. Being regularly cleaned or repainted when necessary. The picture morphed slightly the farther downstream you went but it was never quite as bad as East Gallahart. The district downstream had been named Lower Gallahart to make it clear that the less affluent districts weren’t a part of West Gallahart. Samuel Abbott, his wife Mary and two children James and Caitlin lived there. The Gallahart Police was also headquartered there.

Detective Abbott rarely had cause to visit West Gallahart and even then, didn’t stay long. Something always bothered him about this part of his city. He could never quite put a finger on the reason. Today though, he might have to stay there for longer than he’d like. And so, as the carriage progressed towards his destination, the maya around his fingers thickened. And he found peace in feeling that mystical force.

Soon the carriage pulled under the Porte-cochère of the Gonzalez Residence. It was smaller compared to the veritable palace the Frankos lived in, but it was enormous for two people and their servants.

As he stepped out and approached the front door, a servant came out to meet him.

“May I help you?” he asked, smiling politely.

“Yes. Detective Samuel Abbott, MCD,” he took out his badge from the pocket on the inside of his overcoat and showed him. The servant glanced at it, and his demeanour changed – faux politeness and smile vanishing.

Putting the badge back inside, Abbott continued, “I must speak with Mrs. Gonzalez.”

The servant hesitated for a moment but the smile returned quickly and he said “Please, follow me.”

He noticed the servant’s hand fidgeting, as he turned around, though he tried to control it. Slowly clasping and unclasping.

As the servant led them to a parlour, Abbott took in the sheer opulence at display. His eyes swivelled around, mapping the house. Curtains that looked to be quite expensive even to his layman eyes. Chandeliers that had, he felt, multiple light crystals embedded in it. Marble floors that were polished to the extent that he could see a blurry reflection of everything, even himself. A pleasant scent permeated the entire place, no doubt just as expensive as everything else Fernando Gonzalez seemed to own. The display only amplified his doubts.

‘All this from a textile factory?’ he thought.

They were not walking on the marble itself, though. A rug lined the way to the parlour, probably to keep the marble floors from being soiled.

“Mrs. Franko will be with you shortly. Please, sit down,” he motioned to one of the settees.

Abbott sat down, and almost sank into it, with how soft it was. The servant bowed and left to call his mistress.

The settee was uncomfortable for him. It was too soft. He would have preferred a chair.

He didn’t have to wait long for Genevieve Franko. Her perfume announced her before she even entered, sharp, yet sweet. This was not the first time he was meeting Genevieve, though he doubted she remembered him. It had been almost two decades since then and he looked quite different now too. He remembered a child, perhaps four or five, with tears streaming down her face, not able to comprehend her mother’s death. A child he had tried to console, a child that had smiled ever so sweetly.

This Genevieve Franko he saw now was beautiful, no doubt, but there was no sweetness about her. She seemed impassive, almost apathetic. Her husband’s factory had burned down and she didn’t seem to hold the smallest inkling of heat. She smiled and he rose up and greeted her.

“Detective Samuel Abbot, MCD,” he flashed his badge, but she didn’t even look at it.

“Please, Detective,” she gestured for him to sit.

She continued after he sat down. “What brings you here, Detective? It wasn’t my factory that was burned down.”

“No, but it was your husband’s. And while I would love to question him, he is currently indisposed.”

Her jaw tightening, when he mentioned her husband, was so subtle that he almost overlooked it.

“Out whoring, you mean,” she smiled.

“Precisely,” he stared back at her. Unflinching. The shift and edge in her voice was disorienting, but he didn’t show it. “So I hope you will answer my questions.”

“Very well. Ask what you will.”

“Did your husband have any enemies?” And once more he noticed her jaw tightening.

“Hah!” she scoffed. “He is a wealthy man. Wealth attracts enemies.”

“Anyone specific?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Makes sense. Have you ever received any threats?”

“No.”

“Has Mr. Gonzalez ever talked about being accosted or threatened?”

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he was waylaid on his way back from the brothels for not paying!”

“I see. Blowing up a factory would be a disproportionate response to that, no?”

She straightened out her dress, perhaps embarrassed at the outburst, and looked up at the detective again. “It would be.”

“Your husband doesn’t frequent the factory, so I imagine somebody was handling its day to day?”

“Mr. Morgan. Lewis Morgan. He looked after the day to day when the factory belonged to my father. After the transfer, he wasn’t let go. He still manages it.”

“May I have his address?”

“I don’t have it, unfortunately. You can call on any of my father’s factories and they could direct you, I imagine.”

“Would you be open to telling me about Mr. Gonzalez’s past? It may be of great import.”

She hesitated for a moment but then nodded “I will try.”

“That is all I could ask for. What did Mr. Gonzalez do before this?”

“He was a deckhand aboard the Iron Queen.”

“That’s...” Abbott squinted in confusion. “How did he come to meet you then?”

“He didn’t or rather, we didn’t meet until after our marriage was arranged. It was,” she sighed, brushing away a stray lock. “Do you remember the voyage east two years ago? From Eridania to the Ateletian Empire?”

“I do, I think...” he paused for a moment. “Ah, yes. Your father and Margery Hamilton were envoys to the Empire. Though I always did wonder how they got that privilege.”

“I think the two of them had acquired some favour with Teventor Lyon. He was our Foreign Minister back then,” she waved a gloved hand dismissively. “Anyway, my father met him on that accursed voyage. Said he was very helpful or something to that effect. Then he arranged our marriage.”

Abbott’s eyes narrowed. “Still, he was a deckhand. You, an heiress. One should think someone in your father’s position would be more concerned with... standing.”

“One should think.”

He was silent for a few moments, staring at his hands. Then his head snapped up as he remembered, “He liked him enough to break off your marriage with Matthew Hamilton?”

“Clearly.”

Abbott steeled himself, “Have you had any contact with Matthew Hamilton recently?”

Her eyes narrowed and he almost felt the temperature drop, “Might you be implying something, Detective?”

“Nothing at all, Ms. Franko. It’s a simple question. I imply nothing.”

“Is asking a married woman if she’s had recent contact with her ex-fiancee, truly a simple question, Detective?”

Abbott had heard the Frankos were known for their affinity to produce poison with Maya. He’d had the displeasure of encountering mages like that very few times in his life. And each time, he’d felt the maya move the same way.

The way it moved around Genevieve Franko right now. Slow. Thick. Suffocating. And invisible.

He almost couldn’t hide his smile at that.

“I truly did not mean any offence, Ms. Franko. But you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“I will not deign to answer it.”

“Very well. A different question then?”

“Ask. But this will be the last. I have given you enough of my time.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes unmoving from her face. “Did you love Matthew Hamilton?”

And at that, he felt the maya that had coalesced around her completely evaporate. “What?!”, she asked in sheer disbelief. “What that does have to do with anything?!”

“Perhaps everything. Perhaps nothing. So...”

She stared at him for a long while, her mouth hanging slightly open. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and finally answered after opening her eyes:

“No,” she said and stood up. “And I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“Thank you, Ms. Franko. Good day”, he got up and she merely nodded, while still seated.

When he left the parlour he saw the same servant waiting for him.

“This way, Detective,” he gestured.

He was only a boy, late teens, Abbott estimated.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked when they were at the door and he saw no one else nearby.

“F-Franz, Detective.”

“Are you new here, Franz?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I... uh... ” he hesitated, looking back in the direction of the parlour.

“Son, I’m a police officer,” Abbott put a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay... ” he nodded, still a little hesitant.

“What’s Mr. Gonzalez like?”

“He’s not here much. But he’s drunk when he is. The mistress tells us to leave him alone unless he asks for something.”

“Do the two of them talk?”

“I’ve heard them talk just once, sir. It was an argument they were having”

“What was it about?”

“He’d made a pass at one of the servant girls. When the mistress heard about it, she was very angry. She slapped him saying she’d... ” he trailed off, looking downwards.

“Franz, you’re withholding information from an Officer and impeding an investigation... ” he looked Franz in the eye, with as much sternness as he could muster.

“No no, sir!” he panicked and continued. “She said she’d end their farce of a marriage if he ever did it again. He’d just laughed it off that day, but he’s never done anything like that again” he finished, vigorously shaking his head.

“Farce of a marriage?” he asked, frowning.

“That’s what she said, sir,” he nodded.

“Thank you, Franz. You’ve been very helpful,” Abbott smiled, handing him a ten Aether note and left through the door in a hurry.

Franz stood there, smiling awkwardly, but the note was already in his pocket.