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<blockquote data-quote="Kid Charlemagne" data-source="post: 2434119" data-attributes="member: 93">Orla leaned forward.&nbsp; &quot;What exactly do you mean?&nbsp; It's a skeleton key of some sort?&quot;&quot;No, no…&nbsp; Well, yes, I suppose, after a fashion…&quot;&quot;It's enchanted,&quot; Nigel replied, more statement than question.&quot;Yes.&nbsp; It is capable of opening any lock that it is touched to, any kind of lock that I have ever attempted to open.&quot;&quot;Who knew of the key, and more specifically, who knew of its properties?&quot; Nigel asked.&quot;Very few.&nbsp; My shop assistant knows of its existence, but not of what it does.&nbsp; I try not to use it very often, in fact I haven't used in almost two months.&quot;&quot;Where was that?&nbsp; And I'll need the name of that assistant; we'll have to ask him some questions, as well.&quot;&nbsp; Orla jotted the details in a notebook while Nigel stood up and paced around the back of the shop.&nbsp; He noticed the cash register, and hit the lever opening it.&nbsp; The till was full.&nbsp; Curious.&quot;Do you mind if I look through these files, Mr. Melthorpe?&quot; he asked, indicating a filing cabinet.&nbsp; Melthorpe nodded his assent.&quot;Adrian Poole is his name, I'm sure he had nothing to do with it; he's been with the shop since my father's days.&nbsp; And the last time I used the key…&nbsp; that would be at the British Museum.&nbsp; They had an unusual old book with a very strange lock on it.&nbsp; They couldn't figure out how it opened.&nbsp; They've been a good client over the years, some of the more unusual jobs that I've done.&quot;&quot;Who was present there?&quot; Orla asked.&quot;The curator was there, and a young man.&quot;&quot;And his name?&quot;&quot;Gerald Whisk.. wait, no…&nbsp; Wist.&nbsp; Gerald Wist.&quot;Nigel thumbed through the files in the cabinet.&nbsp; He noticed right away that one file was not neatly placed as were all the others.&nbsp; He pulled it out, and examined it closely.&nbsp; It was a bill of sale, and Nigel was just about to put it back when something caught his eye.&quot;Do you have the letter you received luring you here?&quot;Melthorpe nodded, and pulled it out from his jacket.&nbsp; Nigel examined it, comparing it to the bill of sale.&nbsp; Then he smiled a wide grin.&quot;I can at least put your mind at ease that your friend, Mr. Hunt had nothing to do with this,&quot; he stated plainly.&nbsp; &quot;Observe here, on this bill of sale.&nbsp; There are impressions, here, over the signature, which happens to be that of George Hunt.&nbsp; The size and shape of the impressions, and of the letters themselves, match perfectly with the signature on the letter you received.&nbsp; This bill of sale was used as a template to forge the signature on the letter.&quot;&quot;Your attacker, can you give us a description of him?&quot;&quot;He was an Orkling, tall, very large… olive skin, long hair, tied back like a sailor.&nbsp; Rather shabbilly dressed.&nbsp; He had a single tusk sticking out of his mouth, very odd.&nbsp; It was capped in iron.&quot;Orla grinned.&nbsp; &quot;I'm sure he'll be hard to find.&quot;The investigators examined the rest of the shop for any other clues.&nbsp; The found a small leather pouch inside one of the torn up chairs, filled with small diamonds.&nbsp; Melthorpe identified them as being part of his savings; the Orkling thug had apparently stolen several others, but had missed this one.&nbsp; They thanked the locksmith and stepped out in the street where Artimis and Sandor waited.&nbsp; Sandor was interrogating the urchins, amusing them by juggling several of his vast collection of knives.&nbsp; The children were clearly enjoying it, swarming around him.&quot;The children saw the Orkling arrive,&quot; the knife-thrower explained.&nbsp; &quot;He threatened them to keep them quiet.&quot;&quot;Well, that worked,&quot; Orla quipped.&quot;I gave the older boy one of my knives.&nbsp; One of the smaller ones.&quot;&quot;Lovely.&nbsp; Arming the urchins,&quot; Cass muttered.Sandor turned to Nigel.&nbsp; &quot;I saw no marks to indicate that the shop was broken into.&nbsp; His story seems to hold up.&quot;&quot;But if no one broke in,&quot; Nigel said, &quot;how did the forger get Mr. Hunt's signature?&quot;&quot;Time to go see Mr. Poole, I think&quot; Orla replied.&nbsp; &quot;About the key, does that symbol mean anything?&quot;&quot;The raven in flight?&quot; Nigel asked.&nbsp; &quot;Yes, I think it does.&nbsp; The raven is the symbol of the Raven King.&quot;&quot;Who is that?&quot; Artimis asked.&quot;He's a sort of mythical former King of Northern England,&quot; Nigel explained.&nbsp; &quot;A powerful wizard.&nbsp; The folks in the north are fond of reminding others that they do not truly consider Queen Victoria to be their Queen.&nbsp; The Raven King rules the north, even though he disappeared four hundred years ago.&nbsp; Victoria is merely a steward.&quot;Meanwhile, Amanda sized up Sandor.&nbsp; &quot;Just how many knives do you carry, anyway?&quot;Sandor opened his jacket.&nbsp; Glittering steel covered nearly every square inch.&quot;Twenty.&nbsp; Well, nineteen, I just gave one to that boy.&quot;&quot;Hmm.&nbsp; I count two empty sheaths,&quot; Amanda responded.Sandor stared at her, then inventoried his armaments.&nbsp; &quot;Basszameg,&quot; he swore, looking around for the now-long-gone children.&quot;Fooking urchins.&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Kid Charlemagne, post: 2434119, member: 93"] Orla leaned forward. "What exactly do you mean? It's a skeleton key of some sort?" "No, no… Well, yes, I suppose, after a fashion…" "It's enchanted," Nigel replied, more statement than question. "Yes. It is capable of opening any lock that it is touched to, any kind of lock that I have ever attempted to open." "Who knew of the key, and more specifically, who knew of its properties?" Nigel asked. "Very few. My shop assistant knows of its existence, but not of what it does. I try not to use it very often, in fact I haven't used in almost two months." "Where was that? And I'll need the name of that assistant; we'll have to ask him some questions, as well." Orla jotted the details in a notebook while Nigel stood up and paced around the back of the shop. He noticed the cash register, and hit the lever opening it. The till was full. Curious. "Do you mind if I look through these files, Mr. Melthorpe?" he asked, indicating a filing cabinet. Melthorpe nodded his assent. "Adrian Poole is his name, I'm sure he had nothing to do with it; he's been with the shop since my father's days. And the last time I used the key… that would be at the British Museum. They had an unusual old book with a very strange lock on it. They couldn't figure out how it opened. They've been a good client over the years, some of the more unusual jobs that I've done." "Who was present there?" Orla asked. "The curator was there, and a young man." "And his name?" "Gerald Whisk.. wait, no… Wist. Gerald Wist." Nigel thumbed through the files in the cabinet. He noticed right away that one file was not neatly placed as were all the others. He pulled it out, and examined it closely. It was a bill of sale, and Nigel was just about to put it back when something caught his eye. "Do you have the letter you received luring you here?" Melthorpe nodded, and pulled it out from his jacket. Nigel examined it, comparing it to the bill of sale. Then he smiled a wide grin. "I can at least put your mind at ease that your friend, Mr. Hunt had nothing to do with this," he stated plainly. "Observe here, on this bill of sale. There are impressions, here, over the signature, which happens to be that of George Hunt. The size and shape of the impressions, and of the letters themselves, match perfectly with the signature on the letter you received. This bill of sale was used as a template to forge the signature on the letter." "Your attacker, can you give us a description of him?" "He was an Orkling, tall, very large… olive skin, long hair, tied back like a sailor. Rather shabbilly dressed. He had a single tusk sticking out of his mouth, very odd. It was capped in iron." Orla grinned. "I'm sure he'll be hard to find." The investigators examined the rest of the shop for any other clues. The found a small leather pouch inside one of the torn up chairs, filled with small diamonds. Melthorpe identified them as being part of his savings; the Orkling thug had apparently stolen several others, but had missed this one. They thanked the locksmith and stepped out in the street where Artimis and Sandor waited. Sandor was interrogating the urchins, amusing them by juggling several of his vast collection of knives. The children were clearly enjoying it, swarming around him. "The children saw the Orkling arrive," the knife-thrower explained. "He threatened them to keep them quiet." "Well, that worked," Orla quipped. "I gave the older boy one of my knives. One of the smaller ones." "Lovely. Arming the urchins," Cass muttered. Sandor turned to Nigel. "I saw no marks to indicate that the shop was broken into. His story seems to hold up." "But if no one broke in," Nigel said, "how did the forger get Mr. Hunt's signature?" "Time to go see Mr. Poole, I think" Orla replied. "About the key, does that symbol mean anything?" "The raven in flight?" Nigel asked. "Yes, I think it does. The raven is the symbol of the Raven King." "Who is that?" Artimis asked. "He's a sort of mythical former King of Northern England," Nigel explained. "A powerful wizard. The folks in the north are fond of reminding others that they do not truly consider Queen Victoria to be their Queen. The Raven King rules the north, even though he disappeared four hundred years ago. Victoria is merely a steward." Meanwhile, Amanda sized up Sandor. "Just how many knives do you carry, anyway?" Sandor opened his jacket. Glittering steel covered nearly every square inch. "Twenty. Well, nineteen, I just gave one to that boy." "Hmm. I count two empty sheaths," Amanda responded. Sandor stared at her, then inventoried his armaments. "Basszameg," he swore, looking around for the now-long-gone children. "Fooking urchins." [/QUOTE]

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