The Water lily

The Water Lily Inn was situated near the centre of the old city, over a thousand years old, the weathered stone exterior still bore scars from the Great War. Black scorch marks trace strange patterns on the stone from ancient wards that protects the building. New roof tiles shine brightly in the late morning sunlight as Gen approached the entrance to the Inn. Smiling to himself as the soldiers at the door straighten at his approach, too young to know who he is yet a personal friend of the Lord Marshall must be important.

Quite conversation could be heard from inside the common room of the inn. In the corner near the kitchen sat the owner in deep conversation with the house chef. With a cursory gesture he motioned towards the spiral staircase to the left of the entrance. As it has been many a year since he last visited the Water Lily Gen idled a while in the common noticing the new improvements to the establishment. Wide, comfortable lounge chairs where placed near the two hearths with numerous heavy, dark tables discretely spaced to maximise space yet maintain the privacy of the occupants. Rich carpets from Riyot lay randomly scattered across the floor, giving the common room a casual yet luxurious feel. Remembering why he came, Gen walked up the stairs. At the top of the stairs bright sunlight enveloped him. As he entered the private sitting room, a large bay window showed a magnificent view of the gardens, with an arching bridge over the lake, filled with blooming water lilies, which gave the inn its name.

The Lord Marshall reclined in a wing backed chair, chin resting on his hands, a man with grave concerns on his mind. Gen studied his old friend; the years have been good to him. The ravages of war have been tempered by a relatively quite post, yet things were never as they appear. Knocking on the wooden arch that served as a doorway Gen entered the presence of the old man. “Lord Marshall.” Gen bowed, hands at his side, palms facing outward. He maintained the bow a few seconds longer than customary, yet few alive would understand the significance.

“Gen.”

With a languid wave of his hand Lord Marshall indicated to the chair opposite his. Gen settles gratefully into the comfortable chair with a long sigh. The man opposite him arches an eyebrow at him. Gen smiles ruefully, “Over indulgence.”

“Not as young as we use to be anymore are we Gen? That is what makes this mess even more trying; if I was a younger man I would scour the earth for this creature. Alas, now you will have to do it by yourself.” Rubbing at his forehead Marshall looked towards the towering statues. Leaning to the side he picked up a small bundle from beside his chair and tosses it onto the table next to Gen. “ A little gift from our dead friend.”

“Let me guess, wooden tiles, expertly painted…” Upending the little bag onto the table top with a loud clatter, he slowly moves them about with a lazy finger.
“Three tiles missing, would you care to tell me which ones?” Slowly Marshall turns the tiles one by one while Gen studies each intently. As he turns the final tile around Marshall looks up into the deathly pale face of the man opposite him. “I must be missing something from the bigger picture; I haven’t seen you this afraid in many years.” Marshall sits back and motions to the servant waiting at a side door. Quietly he whispers in servant’s ear that then leaves the room.

They both sit in absolute silence, the servant returns with steaming mugs of coffee for each of them. Placing the mugs with care he leaves the room, never hurrying, drawing the door closed behind him. Taking a sip of the warm coffee Gen finally looks up. “What you did not see was the pattern melded into the marble flagstones at the bottom of the statue. Combined with the missing tiles it forms a completely different story. This wasn’t a ritualistic killing, not in the normal sense anyway. This was a puppet binding, the placing of the tiles was done by the victim, through his own free will.”

“Wait, I am a bit confused. I thought this was a ritual killing, with the tile placements and the desiccation of the corpse. This was classic necromancy, with the victim’s life force fuel for the casting. If you include the tiles then you have a soul binding into a new construct.” Marshall sat back with his mug between his hands. “This would mean that we have a necromancer and a construct roaming free within city limits, and my reason for calling you.”

Gen smile at Marshall, taking a long draught of his coffee he sat forward in his chair. “Basically your observations are correct, if this was necromancy. But we both know that it cannot be, the plaza is sanctified ground and warded tighter than a maiden honour.” Gen takes another sip of coffee just to calm his jangling nerves.

“No, this was only meant to look like a ritual binding, the pattern was not soul forged, just burned into the marble. That is the part that has me afraid, the wards were bypassed."

“Impossible.”