Post by The Stranger on Nov 17, 2009 21:04:19 GMT -5
Quentyn Targaryen and the Case of the King's Landing Killer
Quentyn Targaryen possessed nothing so formal as a spy network, but he had learned long ago that it always paid to be informed. And so he had gotten into the business of collecting favors. Solving problems.
It was noon and Quentyn was sitting in a tavern with his bodyguard, Bannen Keath, enjoying a drink that tasted faintly of lemons. He was listening to the commander of the Mud Gate complain. The commander was complaining because there were no whores to be found anywhere near the Mud Gate any more, and Quentyn gathered that was because someone was hunting them down and murdering them in the dead of the night. Rather grotesquely, it appeared.
"Perhaps I can help," Quentyn offered, turning in his seat.
The commander bristled. "What business is it of yours, boy?"
"The welfare of the city is the business of all the royal family, Captain."
The commander froze, obviously unsure of who Quentyn was, and unwilling to give further offense.
"Quentyn Targaryen," Quentyn supplied. "Do you still have the bodies of the deceased, perchance?"
The commander replied that no one had claimed the most recent casualty, and they had not yet burned her. He led the young Targaryen and his bodyguard awkwardly to where they had moved the body. She was a pretty redhead, no older than sixteen. She was missing an arm and some weapon had torn foul looking gashes across her neck and chest.
"What weapon did this?" Quentyn queried.
"A sword," Bannen said, "Maybe an axe."
Quentyn frowned. "No. Look at these wounds. These are not clean cuts. It looks like it was done by something serrated, something with teeth."
"A saw?" Bannen ventured. Quentyn nodded. The commander wrinkled his nose in disgust. Bannen barked a laugh.
After it was asked and confirmed that each prostitute's wounds were similar, Quentyn asked to be led to the spot each was killed. Each incident had occured in the same general area, close to the Mud Gate. Quentyn asked if the commander had not set extra patrols out at night.
"We have a goldcloak on damn near every corner. Any time they hear a scream, they come running. I was out myself last time, and I swear we had every last alley cut off. We searched every building around the murder. The bastard just disappears like smoke in the wind."
Quentyn told the commander he could manage from there. The commander snorted and left, feeling as though he had wasted his afternoon. Then he grabbed on to the side of a building mortared with large, jutting stones and climbed to the roof. Bannen cursed him for a fool but followed.
"Why the hell did we just climb this building?" Keath asked.
"I noticed that each murder took place on a corner with easy access to the roofs. Plenty of handholds on the way up or a ladder nearby and the like. I think our killer is using the rooftops to come and go in the night."
"Then he could use them to get anywhere in the city."
"Not quite," Quentyn continued, "The buildings lean close here, and he could move about with ease. But those streets --" he pointed at a pair of streets that bordered the neighborhood, "are too broad to leap across. I would be willing to bet that our killer has an apartment in this neighborhood, likely on the second story, and he sneaks out through the window, across the rooftops, down onto his victim, and back the same way."
Bannen grunted. "That still does not narrow it down much."
"What type of man uses a saw? A carpenter, I wager. And it seems a safe bet that our mad murderer lives by himself. So we are looking for a fit carpenter who lives alone, in a second story home in this neighborhood."
Bannen told him that his theory had too many holes to be likely, after which Quentyn, annoyed that his compatriot did not see the genius of his logic, told Bannen to go fuck himself, after which he was nearly shoved off the roof by his angry bodyguard. Then the two went back down to the street to grease some palms and see if anyone knew of a man who fit their description.
////////////////////
The first two houses they investigated were false alarms. But the third held a surprise. They'd were told of a man named Ben Waters, who routinely sold meat to the chefs who cooked bowls of brown in the Flea's Bottom. So they paid him a visit.
"Hello Goodman," Quentyn said, "We are conducting an investigation and -- oh dear." And then he did not say anything else, because a wild-eyed man was attempting to cut his head off with a carpenter's saw.
A carpenter's saw is not an ideal weapon for combat, but in the hands of a sufficiently large and angry man it could be lethal nonetheless. Quentyn squirmed backwards, drawing his dagger and knocking the saw away from his trachea. Quentyn lunged, stabbing the murderer in the side, but the madman seemed unfazed and swung wildly with his saw, tearing the sleeve of Quentyn's coat and nicking his arm.
"Bannen, help?" He gasped.
Ser Bannen, who had been prevented from engaging by the length of his halberd and the fact that Quentyn blocked the doorway, grabbed the back of Quentyn's coat and threw him out of harm's way. Bannen raised his pole arm and brought it down, catching the killer across the left side of his face. The man howled and brought his foot up into Bannen's crotch, causing the man to stumble backwards. By the time Bannen caught his breath, the man had disappeared into the darkness of the city.
"Nice job," Quentyn said.
"I try," Bannen croaked.
//////////////////
The goldcloaks and the whores had filled the entire tavern to congratulate their new heroes. It had been a week, and no new murders, so everyone was convinced that Ben Waters, or "Brown" Ben Waters, as he was being called now, was long gone. They raised mug after mug of ale in toast as Quentyn sipped on a drink that tasted faintly like lemons.
"I will make sure my commander knows of your role in this," the commander of the Mud Gate assured.
"Keep the credit for yourself," Quentyn replied, "But remember, you owe me a favor." And with a faint smile, Quentyn slipped away from the tavern towards whatever festivities his king had planned for the night.
Quentyn Targaryen advances towards Master Espionage
Quentyn Targaryen gains Noteworthy Small Blades
Bannen Keath gains Expert Polearms
Bannen Keath gains Noteworthy Unarmed Combat
Quentyn Targaryen possessed nothing so formal as a spy network, but he had learned long ago that it always paid to be informed. And so he had gotten into the business of collecting favors. Solving problems.
It was noon and Quentyn was sitting in a tavern with his bodyguard, Bannen Keath, enjoying a drink that tasted faintly of lemons. He was listening to the commander of the Mud Gate complain. The commander was complaining because there were no whores to be found anywhere near the Mud Gate any more, and Quentyn gathered that was because someone was hunting them down and murdering them in the dead of the night. Rather grotesquely, it appeared.
"Perhaps I can help," Quentyn offered, turning in his seat.
The commander bristled. "What business is it of yours, boy?"
"The welfare of the city is the business of all the royal family, Captain."
The commander froze, obviously unsure of who Quentyn was, and unwilling to give further offense.
"Quentyn Targaryen," Quentyn supplied. "Do you still have the bodies of the deceased, perchance?"
The commander replied that no one had claimed the most recent casualty, and they had not yet burned her. He led the young Targaryen and his bodyguard awkwardly to where they had moved the body. She was a pretty redhead, no older than sixteen. She was missing an arm and some weapon had torn foul looking gashes across her neck and chest.
"What weapon did this?" Quentyn queried.
"A sword," Bannen said, "Maybe an axe."
Quentyn frowned. "No. Look at these wounds. These are not clean cuts. It looks like it was done by something serrated, something with teeth."
"A saw?" Bannen ventured. Quentyn nodded. The commander wrinkled his nose in disgust. Bannen barked a laugh.
After it was asked and confirmed that each prostitute's wounds were similar, Quentyn asked to be led to the spot each was killed. Each incident had occured in the same general area, close to the Mud Gate. Quentyn asked if the commander had not set extra patrols out at night.
"We have a goldcloak on damn near every corner. Any time they hear a scream, they come running. I was out myself last time, and I swear we had every last alley cut off. We searched every building around the murder. The bastard just disappears like smoke in the wind."
Quentyn told the commander he could manage from there. The commander snorted and left, feeling as though he had wasted his afternoon. Then he grabbed on to the side of a building mortared with large, jutting stones and climbed to the roof. Bannen cursed him for a fool but followed.
"Why the hell did we just climb this building?" Keath asked.
"I noticed that each murder took place on a corner with easy access to the roofs. Plenty of handholds on the way up or a ladder nearby and the like. I think our killer is using the rooftops to come and go in the night."
"Then he could use them to get anywhere in the city."
"Not quite," Quentyn continued, "The buildings lean close here, and he could move about with ease. But those streets --" he pointed at a pair of streets that bordered the neighborhood, "are too broad to leap across. I would be willing to bet that our killer has an apartment in this neighborhood, likely on the second story, and he sneaks out through the window, across the rooftops, down onto his victim, and back the same way."
Bannen grunted. "That still does not narrow it down much."
"What type of man uses a saw? A carpenter, I wager. And it seems a safe bet that our mad murderer lives by himself. So we are looking for a fit carpenter who lives alone, in a second story home in this neighborhood."
Bannen told him that his theory had too many holes to be likely, after which Quentyn, annoyed that his compatriot did not see the genius of his logic, told Bannen to go fuck himself, after which he was nearly shoved off the roof by his angry bodyguard. Then the two went back down to the street to grease some palms and see if anyone knew of a man who fit their description.
////////////////////
The first two houses they investigated were false alarms. But the third held a surprise. They'd were told of a man named Ben Waters, who routinely sold meat to the chefs who cooked bowls of brown in the Flea's Bottom. So they paid him a visit.
"Hello Goodman," Quentyn said, "We are conducting an investigation and -- oh dear." And then he did not say anything else, because a wild-eyed man was attempting to cut his head off with a carpenter's saw.
A carpenter's saw is not an ideal weapon for combat, but in the hands of a sufficiently large and angry man it could be lethal nonetheless. Quentyn squirmed backwards, drawing his dagger and knocking the saw away from his trachea. Quentyn lunged, stabbing the murderer in the side, but the madman seemed unfazed and swung wildly with his saw, tearing the sleeve of Quentyn's coat and nicking his arm.
"Bannen, help?" He gasped.
Ser Bannen, who had been prevented from engaging by the length of his halberd and the fact that Quentyn blocked the doorway, grabbed the back of Quentyn's coat and threw him out of harm's way. Bannen raised his pole arm and brought it down, catching the killer across the left side of his face. The man howled and brought his foot up into Bannen's crotch, causing the man to stumble backwards. By the time Bannen caught his breath, the man had disappeared into the darkness of the city.
"Nice job," Quentyn said.
"I try," Bannen croaked.
//////////////////
The goldcloaks and the whores had filled the entire tavern to congratulate their new heroes. It had been a week, and no new murders, so everyone was convinced that Ben Waters, or "Brown" Ben Waters, as he was being called now, was long gone. They raised mug after mug of ale in toast as Quentyn sipped on a drink that tasted faintly like lemons.
"I will make sure my commander knows of your role in this," the commander of the Mud Gate assured.
"Keep the credit for yourself," Quentyn replied, "But remember, you owe me a favor." And with a faint smile, Quentyn slipped away from the tavern towards whatever festivities his king had planned for the night.
Quentyn Targaryen advances towards Master Espionage
Quentyn Targaryen gains Noteworthy Small Blades
Bannen Keath gains Expert Polearms
Bannen Keath gains Noteworthy Unarmed Combat
Hope you all are well and happy.