4. The Southern Docks, Part 2

After a bit more chitchat, accompanied by detailed notetaking, Rosalyn found herself in Elliott Ahab’s bedroom. It was both sparse and messy at the same time, littered with the trash and odious work clothes Rosalyn’s line of work had led her to associate with the bedrooms of missing young men. It was dark in here, and even darker once Rosalyn shut the creaky wooden door behind her. But that was the point.

“Glow in the Dark.” Rosalyn whispered under her breath as she outstretched her hands. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, fluorescent green lights started to shimmer across every surface in Elliott’s bedroom. The sheets of the cot in the far corner, the pile of laundry that sat at its feet, and especially the doorknobs, drawer handles, and windowsill, all aglow with an eerie neon. Rosalyn took a closer look, peering over one light on the surface of a bedside table.

Glow in the Dark

Spell Class: Inkantation (Basic)

The caster enchants a set of objects, materials, or environmental features around them with a fluorescent green glow that shines bright in the darkness. The caster can target a specific item or something more nebulous, like fingerprints, messages, and bloodstains. They can also enchant people, allowing them to detect ambushes or spies under the cover of night. This glow even be bright enough to light up dark areas, eliminating the need for a lantern.

While many Ink Wizards are scholars or professors, others use their power over knowledge and darkness to plumb ancient ruins, solve magickal crimes, or even as assassins. For them, the verdant ink of Glow in the Dark is indispensable. Plus, even scholars lose their keys.

Fingerprints.

The room was aglow with fingerprints. Dozens of them across every surface. Carefully, Rosalyn picked out the one on the table, which seemed to match all the others, and quickly scrawled it into her journal. Once she had, she continued to poke around the most luminous markings, which indicated they were fresh. “Nothing that belongs to anyone else. It’s all Elliott in here… so he probably wasn’t abducted by anyone who wasn’t wearing gloves.”

Rosalyn checked the rest of the apartment, including for footprints, odd stains, and anything else that might be of interest, but found nothing that couldn’t be traced to Elliott or Catherine. “Welp.” Rosalyn sighed as she flicked the lanterns back on, causing the glowing ink to vanish. “No sign of anyone else in the house. I was hoping we’d get an early ‘Eureka’, but at least it means you guys weren’t broken into.”

“What next?” Catherine asked, anxiously tapping her foot as she waited for Rosalyn’s response.

“Welp… I guess we go back to the dock. You said he worked there, right? Time to meet his coworkers.”

* * *

Despite hours having passed and the talons of night still deep in the air, the Southern Docks were still as bustling as when Rosalyn arrived. A new rotation of ships, with a new set of goods ready to be hauled off or back on or wherever they were going. “How do the Docks run so well?” Rosalyn asked Catherine, still out of uniform, as the two sat on the cobblestone street overlooking the wooden platforms.

“People don’t have much choice around here but to work, unless you’re Mysticet. I don’t know how they make their money… but the Goldpearl Co. has deep pockets, and so they can afford good workers, and the right people to manage them.” Catherine explained. “People like him.”

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Catherine’s pointed at a figure standing in the middle of the dock - not clad in the drab leather and raingear of a grunt, but in some strange, industrial jacket made from copper and silver, covered in gauges and valves. A tall, slender young man whose white hair, noble stature, and odd garb made him stick out like a sore thumb. When he would occasionally turn his head to say something to a dockworker, Rosalyn caught a glimpse of his face - thin, angular, and almost blue in pigment. Despite his almost alien appearance, he seemed to be friendly with the dockworkers, but his kind expressions didn’t take away from the obvious authority that oozed from his post.

“And who’s that?” Rosalyn asked.

“Henry Wintour. He’s one of the reasons Fogport is where it is today.” Catherine said, with an obvious overtone of admiration in her voice. “He’s Goldpearl’s inventor-guy - he’s built the lamps they use, to be able to cut through the fog of the Misty Sea. He built our iceboxes too.”

All of a sudden, a figure stormed up to Henry and began to point aggressively, like a father scolding a child. A short, stout man who was built like a barrel with two barrels for arms, wearing a normal dockworker’s uniform except with a fancy tie that was too long for his body. “There’s the foreman: Mr. Vimes. He’s Goldpearl’s main guy, the enforcer who keeps things on track. Nobody knows his first name. Doesn’t much care for Henry hanging around… I’ve broken up spats between them before.”

“Well I should go say something then. I have to see if they know anything.”

“Wait! Roz, I know that I’m technically the Chief of Police around here, but I’m basically just a babysitter appointed by Goldpearl to make sure dockworkers don’t kill each other in bar brawls.” Catherine laughed nervously. “They probably aren’t going to want to talk.”

“You’d be surprised at what people would want to talk about, Catherine, as long as someone seems eager to listen.”

Rosalyn turned and began to make her way down the stone steps onto the dock, stepping onto the worn wood platform before Catherine could have a chance to protest. “HENRY! How many times do I have to tell you that this is MY worksite, and I don’t need you hanging around distracting people!” Vimes spat as he jammed an accusing finger into Henry’s steampunk breastplate. Rosalyn recognized Vimes surly, scraggly voice - the same crotchety yowl of the man who nearly sent her into the Misty Sea when she stepped off the boat. Immediately, her eyes narrowed.

“I have a right to check out the docks, Vimes! They’re Goldpearl property. How the hell am I going to make things for this company if I can’t actually see what people need?” Henry hissed back. His voice was silky and sophisticated, and every word seemed to have an intellectual confidence behind it - at least in comparison to Vimes. Rosalyn couldn’t deny that she was curious to watch a brawl between these two, with such radically dimorphic body types and ways of speaking.

“Excuse me!” Rosalyn called as she made her way up to the two men, who turned away from each other to look at her in disbelief. “I just have a few questions for the two of you. I can let you wrap this up first, or we can chat and then you can get back to whatever this is.” Rosalyn said, putting on a fake, sardonic smile as she looked indignantly at Mr. Vimes.

Catherine, panting like a dog, screeched to a halt as he came up behind Rosalyn. “Ah, Chief Ahab! I was wondering when another interruption would come my way.” Vimes hissed. “Is this girl here a friend of yours?”

“Ahaha, good one Mister Vimes…” Catherine answered. “Sorry to interrupt you two, but yes, this here is my associate, Detective Rosalyn Darc. We’re on official Police business, I’m afraid. Very urgent stuff.”

Vimes let out an exasperated sigh, while Henry’s ears seemed to perk up. “What’s wrong? Is it the Mysticet again?” Henry chimed in. “Whatever you two need, I’m here to help.”

Vimes looked offended, as if he had been one-upped. “Oh yeah? Mister big shot over here wants to solve the case? Well these are my docks goddammit and I’ll be twice as much help as this rat.”

Rosalyn smiled triumphantly as she whipped out her journal. All you have to do is listen, and people will talk…