Even Justice Has a Price

Breathless, Sven arrived at the sheriff's office near the center of town. The one-story building was made of thick stone and sturdy wooden beams. Half-height swinging doors at the front let the glow of the mana lamps spill onto the porch.

Sven interrupted the deputy behind the front desk.

"I'm here to report an armed robbery," he said, still catching his breath.

The deputy, a man who looked to be in his thirties, lazily raised his eyes.

"Robbery, you say? Where?"

"My home was broken into, and my mother was robbed at knifepoint."

"Wait." The deputy interrupted him, pulled out a form, and began writing. "State your name and address first."

"Sven Kruse. I work at Hathaway's. I live in a rented room on Third Street, three streets to the left of the fountain, above the potter's shop."

"Kruse?"

The deputy stopped writing and studied Sven's face for a moment. Apparently failing to recognize him, he dismissed the thought and continued filling out the form.

"Whose house is it?"

"Felix Ferb's."

"Okay. Describe what happened."

Sven gave him as many details as possible. The assailant had already been inside the locked room when his mother entered. He had been carrying a long knife, bound and threatened her, and ransacked the room. He had then pried up the floorboards and stolen the bundles of moors before escaping through the broken window.

He intentionally left out the part about the knife changing shape. His mother wasn't certain of what she had seen either. Moreover, mentioning magic would mean the case would have to be handled by the inquisitors from the church, which would only make the investigation take longer.

"What about your mother? Is she all right? And how much money are we talking about?"

"My mother is injured. I've already called a doctor. Nine hundred and eighty-five moors."

The doctor part was a lie.

Sven knew his mother had refused to see one, but he wanted the deputy to understand that the robbery had left her seriously hurt. As for the money, the amount itself was accurate.

"That much?"

The deputy's eyebrows rose.

Sven kept his expression serious. He knew the money wasn't entirely from his wages, but there was no reason to explain that. He had saved most of his fifteen-moor monthly salary for three years, Shirin had contributed to it as well, and a portion had come from the money he had received when he was forced out of the manor.

To the sheriff, however, it was simply nearly five years' worth of savings.

"You said the assailant was already inside a locked room?" the deputy asked. "Did your mother say anything about his appearance?"

"Yes. He was already inside when my mother opened the room. He was wearing a scarf around his head, with only his eyes visible. Narrow shoulders, but long arms. He was carrying a long knife."

"Any suspects?"

"None for now."

"Wait a moment."

The deputy set down his pen and disappeared into a back room.

A while later, he returned with an older man. He had broad shoulders, a bald head, a greying moustache, and an unkempt uniform.

"Sheriff Russel," he introduced himself to Sven, making no attempt to shake his hand. "I hear you've had it rough today."

Sven was relieved that the sheriff, who was rumored to frequently leave his post, happened to be present today.

"Sheriff, my mother was robbed, and the person got away with more than five years of my savings. I need your help finding this person and getting my money back. As soon as possible."

Bertrand Russel sighed heavily.

He had heard stories like this a thousand times, each with a different version of the same outcome. People came in claiming to have lost absurd amounts of money, only for the stolen sum to turn out to be a much smaller amount than they had claimed.

"I understand you're upset, Sven Kruse, but unfortunately, these things happen more often than you'd think."

Bertrand seemed to recognize Sven now, though whether he remembered him from the manor or simply from the name was unclear.

"I'll have one of my men look into it."

The sheriff sat down in the deputy's chair.

"When?"

"When one of us has time to spare."

The sheriff leaned back.

"Look, I know this is hard, but we've got an entire town to look after. A house robbery with no suspects and, from what you've told me, no signs of forced entry isn't the kind of case that gets solved easily. Hell, magic might even be involved. If that's the case, it's out of our hands."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Give us a few days."

"A few days?"

Sven felt dejected.

"That's right. Go home and comfort your mother. We'll handle it from here."

The front door opened.

Sven left with his teeth clenched and his fists curled tightly at his sides. The now-smaller bundle of money and the sparrow pin sat uselessly in his pockets.

---

His mind racing, Sven thought about anyone who might have known about the money or had a reason to rob them.

When he returned home, he found the landlord, Felix Ferb, speaking with his mother and the potter, Mr. Almond. Hilda had asked her husband to call the landlord on Shirin's behalf.

Felix, a man in his sixties, adjusted his monocle with one hand and rested the other against his side.

"Terrible news to hear all of a sudden. Terrible," Felix said, shaking his head. "In all the years I've rented out rooms, nothing like this has ever happened."

"Did you really not see anyone strange around the building today, Mr. Ferb? Mr. Almond?"

"I'm sorry, Madam. I was inside all afternoon, trying to finish a vase commissioned by House Kruse," the potter replied.

"I was at my stall most of the afternoon as well. Didn't see a soul."

Felix shook his head. Then he noticed Sven standing in the doorway and gave him a thin smile.

"Ah, young master Sven. Truly terrible what happened to your mother."

Sven looked at his mother. Whoever had applied the cotton patch to her cheek had done a better job than he had. She looked calmer than he had expected and seemed to be handling the situation better now.

"What did the sheriff say?" she asked.

Felix perked up at the question.

"He said he'll look into it."

Sven turned to Felix.

"Mr. Ferb, I really have to ask. Does anyone besides my mother and me have a key to our room?"

Felix's lips twitched slightly, but he maintained his smile.

"Well, I keep a spare key for every room. Yours, however, I do not have, out of respect for the name Kruse."

"You don't really think I had anything to do with this, do you, young master?"

"Of course not," Sven said smoothly. But Felix keeping every spare key except theirs had already lodged itself in Sven's mind.

"I'm just confused about how anyone managed to enter without breaking down the door."

"Well, that's a fair question."

Felix looked at Sven, then at Shirin.

"Excuse me, Ms. Kruse, but it's time for my supper. Do let me know if Sheriff Russel needs me for anything."

He turned toward the door and began walking away before Sven could ask anything else.

"I'll leave as well, Ms. Kruse," the potter said. "No reason for us to linger."

He signaled to his wife.

"Take care, Madam."

"Okay, Mr. Almond, Hilda. Thanks for your help."

Shirin waved as they left, and Sven nodded to them.

The room was empty again.

Shirin turned toward Sven.

"Do you doubt Mr. Ferb?" She had noticed his expression.

"I don't trust the guy. He keeps spare keys for every room except ours. That's too convenient. I think he's in on it. I have nothing to prove, though. Just a feeling."

"Feelings don't come from nothing," Shirin said, "but we can't do anything with that without evidence. Let's wait for the sheriff."

Sven nodded.

They spent the rest of the evening sorting through the mess. Sven set the table upright and put the chairs back in place, but they left the broken doorframe and pried-up floorboard untouched. If the sheriff's men came to investigate, they would need to see everything exactly as it had been left.

Sven had a feeling he'd be waiting for a long time.

---

The next morning, Sven went to the sheriff's office first thing, only to find that the sheriff was unavailable. He asked the deputy to tell him to hurry the investigation when he returned, then left for his shift at the merchants' association.

The following day, Bertrand himself told Sven that an investigating officer had not yet been assigned.

"It'll happen very soon."

On the third day, Sven was told that an officer had finally been assigned, but a more pressing matter had suddenly come up. Two cloth merchants were in a dispute over a shipment, and apparently that required immediate attention.

By the fourth day, even the deputy had stopped pretending to write anything down. He simply gave Sven the same rehearsed replies.

"Still waiting."

"Nothing yet."

"Come back tomorrow."

On the fifth day, Sven arrived at the sheriff's office once again. He hadn't even stepped through the doors when he heard voices from inside.

"I heard one of them made a generous contribution," an officer said. "That means the case will be over soon."

They were talking about the dispute between the cloth merchants. And one of them had likely bribed his way through the argument.

The deputy laughed.

"Everyone knows how it works by now, except some ignorant ones, of course."

Sven stopped.

His ears burned with rage.

He had suspected as much for days. All those excuses and delays had been obvious hints, and yet he had still believed them for a while. Maybe the sheriff really was busy. Maybe there really were more pressing matters. Maybe someone would eventually take his case seriously.

But hearing it said so casually, without even a hint of shame, confirmed the truth.

The law was for sale to anyone with deep pockets.

And Sven had just had his pockets emptied.

He turned around without entering the office. There was no point waiting for them anymore. If the sheriff wasn't going to investigate, Sven would.

He went straight home.

He would deal with taking time off work with Gilbert tomorrow. First, he would find the person who had robbed his mother. By himself.

---