CHAPTER 33 I Had a Problem

CHAPTER 33

I Had a Problem

Rufus

I was not the beastman for this job. And the longer I spent with Minstrel Bronwynn, the more I realized that I was a terrible choice for discovering if the woman was actually an illegal international spy and assassin bent on unleashing permadeath on her unsuspecting victims.

Just look at her! She was sitting in the chair across from me with a relaxed smile on her face. The second the guards had left us, she’d even pulled a bag of cookies from the storage ring I’d gifted her all that time ago and put them out with the tea. She looked like she was excited to get interrogated; like it was a game because obviously it wasn’t her, and she was just here for the ride.

I resisted a sigh.

“So, you think this ‘Claire’ set me up?” Bronwynn asked as I poured her a cup of tea. Pjori, for his part, had moved to a new spot against the wall where the minstrel could actually see him. She even smiled and nodded at him when he did so.

I ignored all of the spiraling emotions in my chest, opened my notification tab, and dropped into my activity logs. So far, I’d not been the recipient of any failed skill or perk, and my [Inspire Honesty] was on cooldown. Not that I needed it. [Inspire Honesty] didn’t make the target tell me the truth; it made them realize the truth and be honest with themselves . They had every freedom to not share their thoughts and retain agency.

“I’m also intrigued,” Pjori cut in. I contemplated getting him his own chair, but he seemed perfectly content.

“She was the attendant who treated you so poorly yesterday.”

“But why would she go so far?” Brownie tilted her head, confused. “She doesn’t even know me? ”

“That’s the problem. She doesn’t know you. Instead, she judged you based on nothing except your profession.” I clenched my hand until I felt my nails starting to dig in.

Pjori shrugged. “Her prejudice is not grounds for interrogation, only the deliberate misguidance and alteration to evidence in an investigation is. If she did it.”

The man eyed Brownie with suspicion, and for some reason, that made me feel better. Someone needed to be sensible in this room, and it certainly wasn’t going to be me .

I’d felt overwhelming embarrassment and apology when they’d escorted Bronwynn into the room, despite the fact that even now she was still the leading suspect in the molten ash vane smuggling. It was natural to return her tuning peg and offer her a seat … and not because I wanted to manipulate her into a false sense of security.

I honestly felt like she wasn’t to blame. That there was just no way that Minstrel Bronwynn was the murderer. If I hadn’t felt this passion for the woman for a year already, I’d think I was under some sort of mind magic or love spell. No. Of her many listeners, I was just one of the more intense fans … and getting to know her on this trip wasn’t helping me knock her off that pedestal. If anything, it was making me like her all the more.

Yes, I had a problem.

“A good lead into questioning,” I acknowledged Pjori’s pointed message to start. “Minstrel Bronwynn, can you tell us everything you did leading up to Lady Tate’s assassination attempt?”

Bronwynn’s face lit up in that way it did when she was ready to tell an elaborate tale. Her arms came up to animatedly accompany the story, and she happily went into minute detail on her wake up, morning routine, and performance practice. I found myself nodding along, enraptured; she could turn brushing her teeth into an interesting adventure.

Pjori, luckily, had taken over taking notes.

We were at the part where the grimalcat had arrived when a hurried set of footsteps sounded down the hall. Pjori was at the door ready to open it when the flurry of panicked knocks hit its rough wooden surface.

A young page girl stood there, her cheeks cherry red from the run. She had the fluffiest curly purple hair I’d ever seen, and big fearful eyes that were hardened with an inner courage.

“It’s my fault!” she exclaimed.

“Page Saryl, you may come in.” Pjori motioned her inside. Rufus didn’t know if he had already met the girl previously while staying in the castle, or if he’d pieced two and two together from the minstrel’s testimony so far.

The page girl fit Bronwynn’s description of her perfectly .

When the door clicked close behind Page Saryl, the girl jumped and glanced back, but otherwise held her shoulders stiff and her back straight. She looked like she was waiting to be sentenced to the gallows.

“Page Saryl here did nothing wrong ,” Bronwynn said, coming to her feet. The minstrel was a large and tall woman who loomed over Pjori and the child in the tight space. For the first time that evening, she didn’t seem like she was playing audience to a great show or performing her part in the story.

“I understand, Minstrel Bronwynn,” Pjori replied. “But we still need to ask her a few questions.”

I put out a hand and placed it reassuringly on Brownie’s arm. “We won’t jump to any conclusions without discussing it first, I promise.”

“Alright.” She relaxed and resumed her seat. She looked like she wanted to remain standing guard beside the page, eyeing her with a regretful expression, but the holding room wasn’t big enough for everyone to just stand around two empty chairs. Pjori also took a step back, giving the young girl space to talk.

Page Saryl took a deep breath through her nose and then exploded in an unending cacophony of word torrent. “It was me! Minstrel Bronwynn entrusted me with her red bag. I brought it to her room, and I left it on her bed. The bag was so pretty and fashionable and-and someone must have snuck in after m-me.”

The idea that someone in the mansion had actually stolen the bag seemed difficult for the page girl to even voice, and she had to force it out. She took another breath and continued. “I don’t know how it got into Lady Tate’s rooms, but it wasn’t Minstrel Bronwynn’s fault. It can’t be!”

I liked the page; she had a good sense for these things. “Thank you, Page Saryl. We will do everything we can to find the true culprit. Now, we might want to start questioning everyone else that Lady Tate and Minstrel Bronwynn spoke to. Could you go and tell Sir Thistlewick to round up Hostler Jimmie, Attendant Claire, and Jack—”

We all started as the door suddenly opened and a man casually leaned against the frame. It was none other than the duke’s man himself, Jack Laverick.

“Did somebody call my name?”