11. Communion Beach, Part 2

Rosalyn’s eyes widened as the Ghost Whale stared down at her, before it opened its spectral jaws and cooed into the heavens. Its voice lingered in the air long after it spoke. Echoing. Echoing. Echoing. Rosalyn didn’t know what to do, but it seemed the Ghost Whale was trying to help. Like a great serpent it suddenly lurched its head downwards, pointing below into the silver water that supposedly held the world as she knew it.

Then, in the reflection, she watched the scenery change. Stretched out across the mercurial sea was a projection of Communion Beach. But not just the beach in the wee hours before dawn… she was watching the mural she had seen in the Chapel. Two lovers, burying something on the shore. They were moving now, laughing and holding each other, but their silhouettes showed not their faces.

Then, the image shifted, as if a camera were lowering down, down down, beneath the shore. Below the sands. Below the rocks. To a dark place…

The image on the Astral Ocean showed no light, no scenery, but Rosalyn knew she was looking at something, because of the way it made her feel. She instantly felt cold. Icy and terrified, as the Ocean turned black. “I don’t understand… what are you trying to show me?” Rosalyn pleaded, before turning her head back towards the Ghost Whale. “Ghost Whale? Buddy?”

But the colossal phantom had vanished, and its singing had ceased. Then Rosalyn felt herself slowly drift down towards the water, falling slowly into the black Ocean, until she was submerged beneath the darkness.

* * *

“GAH!”

Rosalyn coughed as her body lurched forward, like she had been choking on water but none came up. Eyes still bleary, she looked around - it was morning now, on Communion Beach. The sky was gray and dreary. The morning mist held strong across the Abyssal Ocean ahead of her. She could hear the squawking of seabirds, and the bustle of the City far behind her. “SHIT!” Rosalyn exclaimed, standing up and fervently dusting the sand off her cloak. “I must have passed out… I was more exhausted than I thought.”

But before rushing back up the cliffside to return to Fogport, she felt herself still drawn to the beach and the waves. In the distance, she thought she could hear a Whale’s song. “That was… beautiful.” Rosalyn said as she imagined the Ghost Whale again… or at least, her dream of one. “T-Thanks? I guess…”

Suddenly, Rosalyn had a hunch. She looked down at the sand on the beach, and cast Glow in the Dark. Then, she outstretched her arms, and an inky black smoke started to fill the air. And then, under the shadow of night, she saw footprints come aglow.

Cloud of Darkness

Spell Class: Inkantation (Basic)

The caster fills the air with a magickal darkness that spreads across the area around them. This magickal darkness can’t be overcome by traditional light sources, and only those with resistance to magickal darkness can see through it. While foes are left stunned, the caster retains perfect vision within their shroud, which can be dissipated at any time.

It is a well documented preference of Ink Wizards to prefer the dark. Late-night study rooms, dungeon-like labs, and the shadowy alleys of any of Blackwater’s major cities - hiding clues and secrets. Darkness is where secrets are kept after all. Anything worth knowing is found beyond the reach of sunlight.

“Dockworker boots…” Rosalyn said as her eyes followed the trail of footprints towards the middle of the beach. There were others around this trail, but they were all faded - these tracks were recent, glowing strongly in the magickal dark.

Suddenly though, they ended, before sharply turning back the way they came. Another set of footprints, smaller, came to the same spot, before turning back in the opposite direction as well. Carefully, Rosalyn knelt down at the sand the tracks led down - it had been recently disturbed. Like a truffle pig digging through dirt, Rosalyn hurriedly tore through the sand until she had reached a small, solid object beneath the particulate. And she pulled it out.

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As she dispelled the darkness, she saw she was holding an ornate wooden box, decorated to look like a small treasure chest. “A lover’s box.” Rosalyn muttered. “But these were dockworker footprints. Deerin’s maybe?” she asked as nosily pried the chest open, eyes widening as she saw the inside.

Two pieces of jewelry sat in the compartment: one, a splendid silver necklace, decorated with pearls and bones, and the other, a titanium wedding band. Rosalyn didn’t recognize the first… but she had the second before.

It was one of Elliott’s rings.

* * *

I don’t know how to tell Catherine this.

On the one hand, the Mysticet are definitely the biggest player in Elliott’s disappearance. Deerin, the Chapel, Catherine’s job, now this… but on the other hand, it all tells a different story than I, and Catherine, first assumed.

Maybe I’m misidentifying the ring. I’ll have to show it to Catherine. But I fear she may deny what it almost certainly means. I worry that in order to solve this mystery, Catherine will need to face the fact that she didn’t know Elliott nearly as well as she thought. That her distrust of these ‘pagans’, as she says, didn’t pass onto her brother, and that ‘war’ with the Mysticet may be the worst thing for him…

Because Elliott was in love with one.

Rosalyn had returned to the apartment, but found no sign of Catherine, and so she returned to the streets to make her way to Brumehold, on the Southeast. In the gray light of the morning, the city was beginning to reawaken, with pedestrians reemerging onto the streets and the rhythm of boots and ships filling the air once more. But passing the Southern Docks on her way to the Prison, something was amiss - while the rest of the city had returned to vibrancy, the Southern Docks had come to a standstill.

Rosalyn looked at the scene from over one of the railings. People were there, but few were moving. Most were sitting, with looks of shocks on their faces, while others paced with wide and bloodshot eyes. Even Mr. Vimes, the iron-fisted foreman, was lying slumped against a pile of barrels, a look of defeat plastered across his face. Henry Wintour was standing near the edge of the docks, hanging his head solemnly.

“Mr. Wintour?” Rosalyn asked as she walked onto the Southern Docks. “What’s happening? Is everything okay?”

Henry moved with a start, before sniffling and wiping his eyes. “Oh. Detective Darc. Good to see you this morning.” he smiled weakly. “I’m… I’m afraid not. Things are… bad.”

“Oh. Oh I’m so sorry. Well, I-I don’t mean to pry, I just-”

“No no… I was hoping you’d show up actually. This… concerns your investigation, I think.” Henry said, as his gaze shifted towards the far edge of the dock. Sitting on one of the barrels, surrounded by a group of Fogport Police Officers and dockworkers, was Catherine Ahab. Hunched over. Sobbing.

Rosalyn’s heart sank as her eyes widened. “There was an… incident. Out at sea, last night. One of our ships that had left two days prior, well, it didn’t reach it’s destination.” Henry explained. “Another one of our ships found the wreckage this morning. Some driftwood, machinery… a few, uh, ‘personnel’.” the inventor explained, obviously becoming queasy at the thought of what he was saying. “They think it was a Ghost Whale.”

Rosalyn’s eyes widened even further. “A Ghost Whale attacked one of your ships? Has that… has that ever happened?”

“We’ve had reports of them getting more aggressive in the past few months, but this is the first time there’s actually been an attack. It was devastating, though. The ship was completely gutted, and… well all the funerals are going to be closed casket. If there was even enough of a body to recover.” Henry hung his head again. “I can’t believe I let this happen. Goldpearl has been pressuring me to build more deterrents, but I’ve been… I’ve just been dragging my feet. And now all these people are-” Henry couldn’t finish, but after sucking in a deep breath, he was able to keep from breaking.

“It’s not your fault Henry. I-I mean… I guess…” Rosalyn started. I don’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to comfort me, Detective. But, well. Chief Ahab though.” he said, gesturing over to Catherine, whose sobs had grown even more deafeningly tragic. “One of the people doing the search of the wreckage found a ring, floating in the mist. Catherine identified it immediately… she said it belonged to Elliott.”

Rosalyn felt a wave of pain wash over her, as her legs felt like they were turning to rubber beneath her. “I… I don’t understand, how was Elliott on that ship? You said that was impossible.”

“I-I know…” Henry said. “I thought it was. Truly, I don’t know how he stowed away, but… I mean, he’s a smart kid?”

Rosalyn couldn’t take her eyes off Catherine. “Thank you Henry. Thank you for telling me this… I don’t think my condolences mean much here, but…” a tear started to form in each of her eyes, as Catherine wailed on the harbour. Rosalyn didn’t have the heart to finish.