A Murder in Morrowind 8

The Escaped Slave

“What do you need?” is a question I’ve been asked quite a bit recently. What I need is a bellyful of hot food and strong drink; what I need is a beautiful woman on my lap and a purse full of coins; what I need is to find this slave. Because at that moment I was knee deep in muck and leeches in the swamps of the Bitter Coast, without any sign of this nauseating exercise being anywhere close to complete.

I and about twenty others were making our way in a makeshift line across the swamp, after a local Netch herder reported a Khajit with slave shackles in the swamps who darted from sight. Deerkethus mentioned this area was rich in Kwarma mines and that it’s possible she’d be hiding in one of those. I could only hope that he was right. Night was gathering fast and I’ve been told numerous times that you didn’t wander in the marsh at night here. Strange things happen in the swamp at night.

Deerkethus, for his part, seemed utterly at home in the swamp. He stepped as lightly as an elf amongst the briny-pool and fetid waters; he darted from tree to tree and amongst the various vines and moss and vegetation. He had even traded out his gaudy clothing for a simple jerkin and trousers. Originally, that had left him behind the line as I refused to wait for him while he changed. But sure enough, he had caught up and surpassed us shortly after.

It was around nine o’clock at night that I heard a distant shout. A guardsman had located an abandoned Kwarma mine with the signs of recent habitation. A few moments later Deerkethus and I stood outside the door to the mine and observed the signs. Two short paw marks and a faint line following after.

“Khajit-Sign.” I said, “It’s a youngster too.”

“How can you tell?” Deerkethus asked unsurely.

“The line following behind see? It’s the tail. I can tell it’s a youngster because their kittens sometimes lose track of their tail and let it drag. Especially Khajit who’ve not had the benefits of their mothers to tell them better.”

Deerkethus nodded and his eyes darted around nervously. I could tell that a slave hunt was making him a bit uncomfortable. Already the guard were disgruntled with being managed by the constable’s slave; I’m sure being told to walk around in the swamp and find one of his kind made them even more resentful. He wrung his hands and spoke to the few guards who had gathered there already.

“I need two of you to enter with me. The rest, wait outside in case the slave escapes.”

I was impressed by his ability to lead and delegate, although I would never tell him. He had taken to being a constable well and had a keen mind that kept up with my own on several occasions. It was a shame he was slave though.

We entered the mine and immediately I was assaulted by the sheer stench of it all. It smelt of rotten eggs and I covered my nose almost immediately. No doubt that smell was a by-product of Kwarma egg laying process. Deerkethus and the other guards merely wrinkled their noses and joked half-heartedly with each other.

We made our way through the mine with only the light of our torches to guide us. I kept one hand on the wall and went first; I wanted to get to the slave before any of the guardsmen could. While I trusted them enough to follow my orders I also didn’t want any damage done to the Khajit that could muddle its wits.

A short, and unbearable, stint later and we found her. Huddled in a makeshift hovel, malnourished and unclean, was a Khajit child of no more than nine. I was at once reminded of a kitten my sister had when I was a child. The poor thing had gotten itself lost outside and died during a bad snowstorm. I remember the way it looked when we finally found it, its half-frozen body pathetic and limp. I remembered my sister’s pitiful expression. And the crying. That’s what I saw now.

She was beautiful in a Khajit way and I knew her at once to be a rare albino, despite all the dirt and filth that caked her fur. At one time her fur must’ve been pure as snow. Not anymore. She was gaunt and filthy and haggard, dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. She glared at us with slit pupils and her eyes reflected not only our torches, but the fear she felt inside. Her hands were covered in dirt and detritus; I observed the slave shackles that loosely hung from her wrists; pure steel bracelets enchanted with magic that bound a slave to its master.

They glittered dimly in the torchlight and I appreciated the irony of it; such expensive trinkets on such a dirt-covered creature.

Deerkethus made a low purring sound in his throat and held out his hands non-threateningly. I too held one hand out in a gesture of peace and motioned for her to come forward. My other hand reached into a pouch I kept in my belt, where a piece of hardtack and cheese lay wrapped in leaves.

“Mara’s love,” I said, “She’s just a child! I didn’t expect…this…”

I felt sorry for her in every way. This is why I opposed slavery. It wasn’t the guilty who became slaves. It was the children and mothers, the ones who can’t defend themselves. I thought back to Cassius and almost decided that she was completely innocent. Almost.

As I took a tentative step forward a dull gleam beside the child caught my eye. I spied an ornate dagger with a dragon shaped hilt. Twin emeralds studded the eyes of the dragon, and the blade twinkled with iridescent light reflected from the inlaid rippled steel. I knew it at once to be a dagger that belonged to one of the Emperor’s Blades. A gift from the Emperor himself in return for years of service.

But what drew my attention most all, beyond the unique craftsmanship that confirmed that this was Cassius's blade, was the spatter of dried blood that lined the cutting edge.

Her eyes followed my own and she knew. She knew what I had seen. I could see even now in her eyes the realization that we were not friends. She quickly reached a single paw out and snatched the knife up and held it out in the clumsy way that only the young and uninitiated could do.

“We might have found our killer…” I said to Deerkethus and the others. A dull muttering of the guards agreed with me.

“Inquisitor,” Deerkethus said and cooed towards the kitten, “I tell you now that she is no killer.”

“I’m not so certain Argonian,” I growled and put my hand around my blade, “We have a slave and we have a bloody knife. Seems pretty convincing.”

“This is no killer!” Deerkethus pleaded and held a hand out to the guards who had drawn their blades, “Just give me a moment to explain!”

“After,” I started, “We’ve brought her in for quest-“

Wrong move. Her ears flattened back and her mouth gaped open in a feral hiss. All at once an innocent and defenseless child became a screeching hellcat. I tried to draw my gladius but my hand fumbled and slipped off the hilt. The child raised the blade and swiped with speed; clumsy as she was, a knife was a knife and I felt not the urge to feel it’s cool kiss.

“Inquisitor, look out!” Deerkethus didn’t raise his blade. Instead he whipped around and smacked me with his tail, the longest part of his body. My chest gave out a single whoosh of air and I lost my breath. That surprising strength lifted me off my feet and knocked me several meters backwards.

As I flew through the air I glimpsed the tip of the Khajit’s knife. Time slowed down as I saw its bare edge, gleaming in the torch light. I watched as it slid across the length of my thumb and opened it up in a red blossom. Not a fatal wound, but one that bleed nicely, and I winced as the pain began. But time now started again and I was on my back and gasping for air.

“Damn it!!!” I heard Deerkethus cry and he grabbed the Khajit’s wrist and twisted until the knife clattered on the ground. But it was too late.

I watched as the Khajit’s shackles glowed a dull blue and she began to shake and convulse. Foam flowed out of her mouth like a waterfall and matted her fur. Her feet drummed dully on the ground for a few seconds; a death beat. It took all of thirty seconds and then she was dead.

I got up. The guards did nothing to help, just watched passively at what had happened. I was clueless.

Deerkethus cradled the small body of the girl, who now looked so much like a child again. I observed tears. I said nothing. The life of a slave is one that I cannot contemplate. Deerkethus moaned and gripped the child gingerly, wiping away the mixture of foam and blood that seeped from her mouth and nose. Her beauty would never again grace the eyes of man, and the world was a poorer place for it.

“You see now why she can’t be the murderer Gannicus?” Deerkethus dropped all politeness and wept silently. “You see?”

“I…I don’t know…what happened.”

“Slaves…they…we,” He began and looked at me, “We can never shed blood. Ever. The enchantments, they prevent us from doing so.”

“The bracers,” It dawned on me, “They’re enchanted. That enchantment…kills you?”

“Yes,” He nodded, “When a slave draws blood the enchantment kills them. So you see Inquisitor…she couldn’t have been the killer.”

Deerkethus cradled the small form, now looking so much more like a child and openly wept. The guards shuffled silently and headed back towards the entrance, apathetic to the death of a slave. Myself, I stood by and allowed Deerkethus his grief. There was nothing left to do.