Somewhere, in a remote corner of the western district, a well-kempt structure of brick lay nestled against the river bank. The three solid arches supported the thatched roof on different sides with only one hollow to serve as the front entrance. Wide and ideal lay the glass windows for their view of the river region, passing through them revealed a roomy lounge flanked on one side by booths and the other a counter, behind which was situated the burning oven built within the wall. Alongside it stood the apron-covered baker diligently shaping his laborious loaves and peculiar crescents. Most distinctive within the establishment were the chandeliers hanging overhead, fancy as they rose with a surplus of illuminating candles.
Sven watched the bakers with awe as he consumed the individual croissants on the plate before him. Titus sat patiently across from him, withholding the vault of questions concealed behind his gaze until his guest seemed adequately satisfied. Yet the pair of guards who had escorted them also sat content one booth over, likewise consuming croissants. The fresh scent of forming dough accompanied the warm atmosphere.
“At the moment I would appreciate your candor, Seraph. Essentially what are we dealing with? What type of magic caused this malevolence, and whom could be responsible?”
Sven’s eyes were grinning with intrigue for the commandant as he swallowed the next piece of bread. “Well, Commandant Titus. Candidly speaking, there is no known magic that could cause this.” Another bite of the croissant followed by a sip of milk. While one relished his current situation, the other was anxious, execrable. Sven could see it in his expression, Titus disconcerted and on the verge of sweating. “But seraph, a lead, a clue, some direction must have been divulged by the remains. You saw them!”
Sven eyed the next croissant in his grasp. “I most certainly did. Mutilated”—a bite—“torn open”—followed by delicate chewing—“ripped queerly down the sides and the middle, all those intestines," he finished speaking with his mouth full. The commandant’s gaze proved indignant. “But did you notice, commandant?”
“Notice?”
“I forgot to mention, it’s not simply a body malformed in two pieces. A portion of the torso was missing.”
“If you would elaborate…”
“I mean, poof! There is less matter than there should be, even for a corpse. I’m surprised the mortician didn’t say so.”
“That’d be two of us.” Titus pondered, then leaned forward. “What of variables?”
“The unlikely possibility is more often the fact in my experience. Whatever magic disassembled that noble, it also dematerialized part of him. There was no fire, for there are no scorch marks. You saw. No one could get away with elemental magic in the middle of a city.”
“I am afraid I am out of guesses, Seraph Sven. With the various possibilities, there are none that may adequately explain the victim, far as I can venture.”
Sven smirked. He turned his head and spoke cheerily to the pair of guards sitting behind them; they had been listening intently, though believing themselves unfound. “I think about done eating. Chaps! The commandant will pay for the delicacies, you ought to take the rest in a bag and wait for us outside until then.” They shrugged and slowly made their way outside, having already finished their bread. Once he saw them walk outside Sven then turned his smirk to the commandant. “You seem like a discreet man, Titus. Perhaps more so than myself.”
“I strive to maintain the confidence of others, both with my superiors and subordinates.” But Titus was still confused about the subject, as notable in his furrowed brow.
“No doubt… So I’ll tell you, I think this is an entirely new form of magic we are dealing with. Another thing, I’m certain the caster was someone of status: A rich bastard.”
Titus had seemed disturbed by the notion of being completely in the dark. But now he was at the apex of curiosity. A flurry of questions dictated his stream of thought, the identity of the noble man, a means of deducing the magic employed in the heinous crime, and what role he might serve in achieving those answers, so he would coolly humble himself before the Seraph and inquire about his possible assistance. “Well it was a pleasant acquaintance, Good Titus, sir,” said Sven. “Give the mayor my regards, and thank you very much for the croissants.”
“Wait! Where are you going?” stammered Titus.
“Time I leave this city,” Sven said cheerily.
“Hold! Do you not intend to investigate further? You just released a series of vital analyses and don’t intend to follow through?”
“Someone’s terribly serious. I can go back and say I did as was asked. I inspected the body. The church will decide how to proceed.”
“But you’re here now! Why come so far just to observe and not act?”
“The Croissants!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Pardoned art thou. But I came primarily to taste the croissants this city is famed for. A friend recommended it to me, so I jumped at the job listing.”
“You’re serious?”
“Never. Why do you ask?”
Titus’s face grew red. Of all the moments of madness, he decided now it was of little consequence how anyone thought of him. He rose up and uttered in a great baritone, “I find you lack the makings of a gentleman.” Sven’s jaw dropped at this insult. “However, I did promise to pay for your meal, and I shall. But let that mark the termination of our acquaintance, Seraph! Perhaps what information though hast uncovered will lead to fruit in my own inquiries. Fare thee well!” He put on his fancy hat, and after leaving several coins on the counter, Commandant Titus saw himself out of the shop and departed with his retinue. Seraph Sven would relax in the bakery for a while longer, humming and thinking in conscious dreams. The disappointment oozing in the Commandant's remarks was apparent, but the significance of what was learned this night would leave an unpleasant response. “It should not ruin the mood.”
ns 15.158.61.17da2
