Session — Sherlock, Eat Your Heart Out
A missing heir, a bad negotiation, and the quiet proof that Valinport watches everything.
Corwin Thorne woke up convinced of two things:
there was another case, and it was his.
The dead merchant in the Foreign Quarters still bothered him—not because it was unsolved, but because it had been allowed to be solved incompletely. That never sat right with Corwin. Loose ends were insults. So he declared his intent to open another investigation, whether the city wanted it or not.
Leda Gebhart, unimpressed with proclamations made before breakfast, went back to the dorms.
The party followed.
Current Date: 01/08/990
The City Splits the Party
Valinport does that sometimes—pulls people in different directions, like it’s testing which secrets you’ll chase.
Zel — The Foreign Quarters
Zel Cunningham headed south, toward the Foreign Quarters, where medicine smelled sharper and trust came slower.
She slipped in through the back door of Recov & Olstoy Physicians, where Alexi Recov and Barb Olstoy worked in professional proximity. Not a couple. Just “roommates,” by which everyone understood don’t ask questions unless you want answers you can’t unhear.
Downstairs, the surgical suite was busy. Upstairs, the waiting room overflowed. Zel bypassed it all.
She asked about Draco.
They knew of him. Not personally. Arrived from the east. Big bushy beard. Difficult. Paid well. Told them not to ask questions. The kind of man who leaves impressions without introductions.
Zel offered Mol Potts’s help—Alexi accepted with the enthusiasm of a man always short on competent hands. Mol, notably, was absent today.
Before leaving, Zel stopped by the commissary to speak with Lilliana, the head cook. Heavier-set, mousey brown hair, the kind of woman who fed people because the world didn’t. Lilliana offered Zel a room if she needed one—and suggested another outside the college if discretion mattered.
Zel filed that away.
Corwin — Pride Meets Paperwork
Corwin went to see Jarith Baelin.
Jarith’s office was exactly what Corwin remembered: bookcases choking the walls, dossiers stacked like defensive works, and a living space in the back that implied the job never really stopped. Jarith listened, unimpressed, as Corwin explained that the merchant murder had been “set aside” for better information.
Jarith scolded him immediately.
Bribes weren’t clever. They were lazy. Worse—they made enemies who remembered you.
Then Jarith mentioned something else:
a rich child missing.
Corwin latched onto it like a lifeline.
Leda, Gideon, and a Closed Door
Leda and Gideon Kael attempted to see Lady Serina Kael.
She was unavailable.
Which, in Valinport, usually meant very available to someone else.
A Job Lost, Then Earned
When Corwin told the group about the missing child case, no one was eager. Going after Draco sounded like suicide. A lost noble child, on the other hand, was solvable—and paid.
Corwin tried to get the case file.
He failed.
Then he tried to get more money.
He failed harder.
Jarith revoked the job.
Leda, exasperated, told Corwin to swallow his pride and go back inside.
Jarith came out instead.
Leda spoke. Calm. Direct. Promised cooperation, not ego. Jarith relented.
They got the file.
Corwin said nothing.
The Veylin Estate
The house was quiet in the way money demands.
They were ushered into a sitting room where a severe woman painted in silence, a younger child on her lap.
Lady Merissa Veylin did not waste words.
Her son, Calen Veylin, was missing.
He’d run off. Threatened it before. Romantic notions of adventure. Betrothed to a neighbor. Locked in a life he hated. The guards had let him leave disguised as a commoner—she’d fired them immediately.
Ten gold each. Paid discreetly. No publicity.
Corwin asked to see Calen’s room.
It was painfully blue.
Dusty toys. Dusty books. Notes stacked neatly on a desk—plans, dreams, childish strategies. Corwin read them like a confession. Calen wanted to be a gentleman thief. An adventurer. He was deeply, dangerously in love with the idea.
Corwin found a necklace in the desk. Expensive. Lady Merissa’s.
Zel named the case, quietly and perfectly:
“The Glass Alibi.”
The Portly Weasel, Again
They went where dreams of bad ideas gather.
The The Portly Weasel was exactly the same: greasy, loud, dangerous in small ways. Leda bought a beer and asked the bartender. Yes—he’d seen the kid. A few days ago.
Corwin overheard talk of adventurers chasing the drowned captain’s treasure. Smuggler caves. Old legends. Valinport’s favorite lullabies.
Outside, Corwin talked dice with locals.
Inside, a man played a flute.
Thieves’ Guild. Known quantity. Last seen talking to the heir apparent.
When Charlie left, Corwin followed.
Leda turned into a rodent and slipped inside.
Charlie met with others. Leda shifted back, burst through the doors, and shocked them into compliance with sheer audacity. They handed over the kid.
Calen called his mother mumsy.
That told them everything.
Resolution, and a New Thread
Calen was returned. Lady Merissa paid promptly. Discretion upheld.
But Corwin wasn’t done.
He followed Charlie and his associates as they drifted toward another bar near the college:
Thieves Guild of Valinport (The Quill and Scroll).
The city hadn’t stopped moving.
Neither had its secrets.
Next Session Reminders
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What is Charlie the Flute Player really involved in?
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The drowned captain’s treasure keeps coming up—why now?
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Draco remains untouched and watching.
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Corwin has burned goodwill with Jarith—what does that cost him later?
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Housing, discretion, the Crown of Iron, and the The Infernal Empire all remain unresolved.