Season of Starlight

Third Month

The Kaleno Museum

The City of Kaleno, The Cronia Region

2326

Betty jumped out of the grey Enigma as it pulled up to the Kaleno Museum. She thanked Inspector Fraser and hurried through the front entrance.

The museum had been her second home for three years.

Betty spent countless nights nose-deep in her research, studying the history of the Prophet Society religion from the world's creation to Doomsday.

It was fascinating information meant to be shared with others, but Connie Nippon was the only one willing to watch her presentations.

Betty longed to teach and pass on the knowledge, but Prophology was not recognized in many academies around the Cronia Region. Her insatiable desire to regurgitate the themes of the Holy Book was partially satisfied with her one-woman audience; for that, Betty was eternally grateful. It kept her sane.

One day she would make it.

One day the world would understand, but now was not the time to dream.

Betty had a mission.

Her hand tightened around the Serpent's Talon as she caught the attentive eyes of Madam Beauchesne behind the reception desk.

"Dr. Blanche, you are no longer permitted on the premises," she announced.

"This is a public museum, Doris," Betty said. "If you have a problem, arrest me."

Connie Nippon's workplace was on the second floor in the Department of Ancient History. When Betty was indited into the museum, she was eager to start her work bringing the texts of the Holy Book to general audiences with a team of the most gifted archeologists in the region.

That is what Ambrose Croftdale promised her.

However, when she arrived for her first day, the board segregated her from the team and assigned her to a micro-office in the Department of Folklore and Mystery.

The memory irritated Betty as she passed a display case holding the royal robes of Cronia's last monarchy, the fading remnants of the Thornbridge Dynasty, but disposed of the anger before her blood could get the chance to boil.

For too long had her beliefs been ruled irrelevant.

The Holy Book was defined as a fairy tale of heroes, villains, and tragedies, unjustly mocked and used out of context.

Betty was almost happy to know she would not continue her work with the museum. The people here did not understand her enthusiasm. It was an environment ruled by one-sided politics and values. Any word from the opposition would be trampled and cast out just because they felt it was wrong.

But what was the point of a free world when a different opinion was considered an act of war?

Such a mindset was an act of prejudice.

Some chapters in life were intended to close unexpectedly because there was always a better opportunity waiting. Betty took comfort in that as she squeezed the brass doorknob of Connie's office and walked inside.

"Betty!"

Connie jumped up from her desk and hurried around it.

She snatched Betty's hand and clutched it firmly to her chest. Her auburn hair was blow-dried to perfection, sitting on her shoulders without a single strand out of place, and her plum eyes were large and attractive. Her red lips squeezed together, complimenting her pale flawless skin.

Connie loved to indulge in the luxury lifestyle. Her purple blouse, patched with golden embroidery, white trousers and long red leather boots, declared her status as a sumptuous fashionista.

"They are cleaning out your office!" Connie said desperately. "Whatever for?"

"They fired me," Betty said.

"Fired?"

"Budget cuts."

Betty wiggled her hand free and sat on one of two orange lounge chairs in front of Connie's desk. "Prophology isn't worth the investment."

"Not worth the investment? Those cowards!" Connie spat, marching furiously around the room. After a moment of scuttling, she sat next to Betty on the other chair. "It takes an arrogant bastard to think Prophology is a useless endeavour. Your work provides remarkable insight into the religious foundation of Aphora!

I am tired of these self-righteous pricks pulling strings, so eager to rule themselves that they hunger to disavow any evidence proclaiming the existence of the supernatural. They will drop dead before admitting God is in control. I don't understand it."

"That debate is between them and their maker," Betty said. "I know my purpose. That is all that matters."

Connie smiled. "Your time will come. This world may be too blind to appreciate the truth now, but El Olam works in mysterious ways. A revolution is coming. Just hold out hope."

The glint of a red stone tempted Connie's gaze. She looked down, noticing the silhouette of an object held in Betty's hand.

"What is that?"

"I need your help," Betty said, placing the Serpent's Talon on the desk.

Connie lost the gentleness of her expression. "Please tell me that isn't real."

"This idol has become a pivotal piece in Inspector Fraser's investigation. You studied Tyscerism with Dr. Treblouwski several years ago. I need you to tell me everything you know about it."

Connie stood up and hustled for the door.

After closing it, she turned around and curled her arms over her chest.

"If you insist. The Serpent's Talon was an artifact created by three Cronia witches using the dark arts. They crafted it out of obsidian, and a red gem referred to as the bloodstone, harvested in the caves below the Heawa Desert. It is dimmer than a ruby and is thought to have been created by Tysceras before his descent into the Underworld. Spiritualists believe it is the blood of the Fallen Guardian residing within that gives the gemstone its crimson pigment, hence the name."

"How great is its power?" Betty asked.

"Immense," Connie explained. "It was used to summon The Spirit of the Vagabond, after all, but you knew that, didn't you?"

Betty examined the relic. "I need to know how to destroy it."

Connie dropped her arms to her sides. "Has it been used?"

Betty nodded.

"On whom?"

"Ricky Pender."

"Bloody hell! Your janitor is bound to The Spirit of the Vagabond?"

"Keep your voice down," Betty urged.

"Betty," Connie said, sitting down. "Is he behind the murders?"

"The Spirit is, not him. Connie, please, I need to know how to free him before anyone else gets hurt."

Connie put a finger to her lips. "It is pretty straightforward. All you need to do is destroy the relic to sever the bond."

Betty didn't hesitate. She snatched the relic and raised it above her head, preparing to smash it on the floor.

Connie latched onto her wrist.

"Stop! Not that easy. You must destroy it in front of the creature's summoner. Then and only then will Ricky be free."

"Dammit," Betty swore, lowering the relic. "That is the problem, Connie! I don't know who the summoner is, and I'm afraid that more lives will be lost by the time we figure it out. Ricky is being paid with doubloons. That is all I know."

"So, the summoner is an aristocrat. How very interesting," Connie thought, her voice soft. She picked up the Serpent's Talon and balanced it in the palm of her hand. "I wonder," she said.

"Wonder what?" Betty asked.

"Is it possible that Ambrose Croftdale died because he found this relic in the Heawa Desert?"

Betty chuckled at the remark, then stilled. Perhaps Connie was on to something.

"Think about it," Connie said. "The relic was lost to the desert. We have been digging there for weeks, searching for the unknown. What if the Serpent's Talon was what Croftdale was looking for all along?"

"For what purpose would Ambrose need it?"

"Not him. Jezebel. She killed him after all, or at least arranged it."

Betty glanced at Connie and laughed. "That is a heavy conjecture."

"After you expressed your concern about the reason behind our expedition in the Heawa, I called up our equipment office in Kaleno. They performed Ambrose's stunt and concluded that the ruling cause of death was wrong. When I was back in the city, I went to the warehouse. The harness broke between Ambrose's legs. I tested the material myself, Betty. It would have been impossible for him to snap out of it unless it was deliberately cut."

Betty shook her head. "So, it was murder?"

Connie nodded. "It would appear so."

"If it was her, why would Jezebel kill her husband over a relic?"

"Why does anyone kill?"

A shadow passed beneath the door, catching Betty's attention. She slipped the Serpent's Talon into her coat and jumped up from the chair. "We need to leave."

"Why, what's wrong?" Connie wondered.

"The Spirit said there would be consequences for taking the relic. I fear they have caught up to us sooner than I expected. Put on your jacket."

Connie silently obeyed. "Wait, you talked to The Spirit of the Vagabond?"

"I'll explain everything later," Betty said, opening the door. She looked up and down the hallway. "Right now, I need to get you out of here. Jezebel Croftdale is a powerful woman and maybe a dangerous adversary. We need to warn the detective."

"Betty."

"Connie, I will tell you everything. Just move."

"Oh, alright."

"Did you drive in today?"

"Yes."

"Good. Get your keys. We have to make this quick."

Connie fumbled in her pocket as Betty guided her out of the office.

They walked against pedestrian traffic, wedging through the crowded halls toward the front entrance.

Descending the stairs, Betty looked ahead and saw a man in a dark suit glaring in her direction.

Her gut twisted.

Connie pulled out the keys to her motorcarriage as they stepped onto the ground floor. Betty fell into a sidestep next to her friend, keeping an eye on the man as he approached them.

"We're being followed. Pick up the pace."

Betty looked over her shoulder and saw the man sorting through the crowd. She bumped into a hooded figure, losing her balance.

"Sorry," Betty said.

When she collected herself, the figure had gone. There was a grunt, and Betty turned to find that the man had vanished. She anxiously grasped Connie's arm and hurried out of the museum.

"Where did you park?" she asked.

"On the right side of the building near the service door in the alley. Can you stop pushing me?" Connie begged. "These boots won't go any faster."

Betty transitioned into a run, pulling Connie along for the ride. Was she paranoid? It was impossible to be sure, but Betty had a nudge that something wasn't right, and a nudge usually meant she was right.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

"Almost there," Connie said, skipping on the pavement.

They entered the alley.

Connie pointed to a white Scavenger parked ahead of them.

"You drive," Betty said.

Bang!

A gunshot rang through Betty's ear as Connie collapsed into her arms.

"Connie!"

Connie moaned, her body going limp.

"Stay with me!" Betty pleaded, cupping her face. "Connie!"

A sly voice frightened her.

"Good day, Dr. Blanche."

Betty lifted her chin as Jezebel Croftdale emerged from the shadows, holding a smoking pistol in her right hand.

"I believe you have something of mine."