White Crane Spreads Wings

“What’s that?” Urdin asked.

“It’s a guitar,” glared Sen, “if you couldn’t tell.”

The young boy clad in a blue tunic in front of Sen laughed awkwardly, sitting down on the stool beside him.

The bright sunlight pierced through the window into the small, oak shack. Sen leaned against the wall, tuning a few strings on his guitar.

“But why does it have dials and buttons?” Urdin continued.

“It’s an electroacoustic…” Sen replied impatiently, “anyone ever told you how annoying you are?”

Urdin grimaced, seemingly hurt by the comment.

“Sen!” Armand yelled as he stepped into the room, “Relaxing time is over! We have a whole day of training to do!”

“Yes sir,” said Sen, placing the guitar back on the stand, “but this person from Regina insisted on speaking with you.”

Urdin waved and grinned, “Pleasure to meet you sir, I have been waiting all morning-”

“Sure,” Sen interrupted, rolling his eyes, “you definitely weren’t here for a few minutes…”

“-and I have an urgent message from the town chief!” Urdin continued, pulling out a note from his pockets, “We have a few problems.”

Armand took the piece of paper and read it carefully, a surprised expression emerged, “Oh dear, is it true?”

“Yes sir.”

“What’s your name my boy?”

“Urdin sir,” the boy replied, “son of the chief.”

“Okay Urdin, I will accompany you to Regina, we’ll get ready in a few moments,” Armand said before signalling Sen, “come Sen, let’s get ready. Bring your weapon.”

“My weapon?”

-=+=-

“Oh my goodness! Armand!” the chief exclaimed as he greeted the old man, “I thank you so much for coming here!”

“I have got your message old friend,” Armand said, “take me and my assistant to the room there it happened please.”

“I understand that you haven’t been doing detective work in decades, but we don’t have any detectives in our area,” the chief explained as he led the pair by the door of a large house, “the crime scene in here. We haven’t moved the body yet, please take a look. I will be waiting out here.”

Armand nodded before walking through the door.

“When did this happen, sir?” asked Sen.

“Just last night, midnight,” the chief replied.

“So ten hours ago…” Sen rubbed his chin in thought before following Armand into the building.

Once inside, Sen was met by the light scent of berries, along with the sight of a middle-aged man dressed in yellow sleeping garments slumped lifeless on a dark mahogany chair.

The room was incredibly large, with coloured glass on windows and luxurious decorations. Opposite of the dead man was a small dining table covered with a lime tablecloth, and a piece of neatly folded paper placed onto it.

“What do you make of this Sen?” asked Armand.

“Uh,” Sen paused, looking around the room, “there does not to be any signs of struggle, so this isn’t an attack, so probably poison or a ranged weapon?”

“Good, and?”

“No damages on the walls, no signs of breaking in, no damaged items. This means no one was in here when the death happened. So suicide?”

“Not suicide,” Armand said as he inspected the body, “this man isn’t the type.”

“So poison?” asked Sen.

“No cuts and bruises on the body, but blackened fingertips and dry lips. So, yes poison. Look for food remnants or other suspicious substances.”

Sen nodded and leaned over the table, squinting to try to find any traces of food like bread crumbs. Armand turned over the dead man’s hand as Sen struggled to find any evidence.

“Look at this, Sen,” Armand said as he shows the man’s pale palm, tiny patches of yellow-ish brown stain could be seen, “the stain is external, which means it’s not an effect of the poison.”

“So the stain is the remnants of the actual poison!” Sen said in realisation, examining the stain.

“Exactly, now take a look at that piece of paper on the table.”

“What pa- OH!” Sen moved towards the paper, picking it up, “I did not even see that.”

Sen opened the folded note to see a simple, childish drawing of a smiling face. He frowned at this.

“Well? What is on it?” Armand asked.

“A smiley face,” replied Sen, holding the note out so Armand could see.

Armand frowned as well, “Seems like some kind of taunt.”

“I guess,” Sen shrugged.

Armand then strode around the room, examining the windows.

“There are no signs of forced entry,” said Armand, “strange.”

“How about the doors?”

“I have looked at them as we came in, no signs as well.”

“But why would there be signs of forced entry when this man is poisoned?” asked Sen, confused.

“There’re signs of poison and remnants, but no signs of the poison itself,” Armand explained, “Even if he consumed it all, there are no signs of the same miscolouring near his mouth.”

“So someone had broken in…” Sen said thoughtfully, “No signs of forced entry? So were the windows locked?”

“Yes, presumably so as they are locked now,” Armand said, “but how else would they come in to place the poison, then come back to get rid of it? Definitely not by the front door as it is just in front of a large road…”

Sen paced around in deep thought when realisation struck him. He looked up to see a plank of wood slightly broken and misplaced.

“The roof, sir,” Sen reported.

Armand glanced up, “Of course! Sen, are you able to get up there?”

Sen nodded. He then dragged a chair from the table to the wall beside the broken wood plank. With a heave he bolted up onto the chair and leapt up, snatching the plank from the roof. When Sen landed a hole is revealed. Sen the performed the same actions again but this time he grabbed onto the ledges and grunting, he pulled himself up through the hole into a small attic dimly lit by the sunlight through the cracks in the roof tiles.

Sen gently pushed parts of the roof to test its strength. When he found a spot where the tiles wobbled, he pushed again with more force. The tiles fell inwards onto the floor, allowing more sunlight to pass through. The room was now more visible, allowing Sen to see the objects lying around: a knife, a thick torn cloth and a plate with traces of brown goo. Sen furrowed his brows, thinking of a way to take the ‘evidence’ back down.

Not wanting to pick up the plate in fear of poison, Sen took the cloth and wrapped around his fingers. He scraped the plate with the cloth, transferring the substance onto it. Sen folded the cloth and jumped down back to the room.

Sen showed Armand the piece of cloth and described what was up in the attic.

“…there was a weakened place in the roof which the tiles could have easily been removed,” Sen explained, “also a small pocket knife which I do not want to touch.”

“Hmm…” Armand examined the substance of the cloth, sniffing it slightly.

“What is it sir?”

“Belladonna…” Armand replied, unsure, “or is it mistletoe? I couldn’t tell, the poison is too dry and mashed.”

Armand folded the cloth again, stuffing it in his pocket. He motioned Sen to follow him out.

“Well?” The chief asked.

“We don’t have much to go off of yet. I think that we need some investigation on the victim,” Armand replied, “pray tell, who is that man?”

“Acorn Coin, he is a wealthy merchant who bought this house a while ago. He just arrived yesterday back here to stay for a month,” the chief replied.

“Does he have any enemies? Or owes anyone money? Or got into an argument recently?” Sen ejaculated, “Any clues on why he might have gotten killed?”

The chief shook his head, “He is one of the most easy-going people I knew.”

Armand stoked his beard and furrowed his brows, “We need to talk to the village guards.”

-=+=-

“Sorry,” Armand apologised to the thin, short beggar he just bumped into. The beggar nodded and slowly moved away.

“Anyway, Sir. As you were saying?” Sen asked the guard.

“Oh yes, there were no one entering the village besides Mr Coin in the past three weeks,” the guard explained as the they walked along the path, “the last guy entering the area before Mr Coin is a green haired kid with a white coat, and I don’t think that he could kill anyone.”

“Did he leave the village?” Armand asked.

“No, he is currently living in a local inn.”

-=+=-

“Hello? Anyone home here?” Sen knocked on the room door, “Please answer, it is incredibly rude to go silent on visitors. I might get bored to death if you don’t open this door!”

“What are you doing Sen?” Armand asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Knocking with humour?”

“Never mind,” Armand sighed, “this person still isn’t answering.”

“The innkeeper told us that this guy hasn’t been out of his room for two days,” Sen said, “should we just break in?”

Armand nodded as he tugged at the handle, breaking off the door with a snap. The door creaked open revealing a small room. It was soon apparent why there was no answer to the door.

The body of a boy laid limp in the bed, with blackened fingertips dry lips. A black scroll was on the table, smashed. The windows were wide open, letting the cold evening wind inside.

“Oh my…” Sen gasped.

“Looks like the same type of poison. I need to get back home to run a few tests on the sample you’ve collected,” said Armand calmly, reaching for the cloth in his pocket, only to find that it was gone.

