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Chapter 25: Trask leaves the city
It took an hour to get out of the city. Despite Trask’s fears, the main road north turned out to have plenty of traffic on it and weaved through picturesque valleys and a couple of farming villages. Joe and Matilda took turns driving.
The air was so fresh that Trask tucked his pomander inside his shirt.
Trask sat inside, since he’d never driven a carriage and also wouldn’t have been very useful at keeping an eye out for potential threats.
He’d also never been outside the city before, so he stared out at the countryside as he worked his way through the provisions they bought in the city.
Trask was surprised to discover that people actually lived outside the city walls. He had thought that food came in from off-world — after an expensive content review and steep import fees, of course.
After all, why would someone role-play as, say, a pig farmer? And do it while living in a thatched cottage with no central plumbing and a roof that probably leaked? But somebody must. He occasionally saw people working in fields, heard cows mooing, and wisps of smoke rising from cottage roofs.
The air was fresh and crisp, the sun shone down undiluted by city smog, and a feeling of calm and peace came over Trask as he looked out at the scenery, his belly full of goose legs, fried skirrets and sticky buns.
I should come out here more often, he thought. Nature is good for the soul. He could easily see himself staying out here forever.
Five minutes later, he nudged Joe awake. “How much longer do we have to go? If I have to look at one more cow pasture…”
***
Two more hours later, they crested a small hill and finally saw the Baron’s battle flags waving in the distance.
Trask was hungry again, and was seriously considering tackling the jellied pigs feet they’d decided to save for the trip back, but restrained himself.
The carriage was parked, the horses fueled up, the tire pressure checked — Trask wasn’t really sure what Joe and Matilda did to take care of their transport, but they did something — and he walked up to the front gate.
“Open up! Chamber of Commerce peace enforcement!” Trask yelled up at a guard sitting in the gatehouse. He hoped the guard didn’t recognize Matilda. Didn’t she brutally murder a bunch of the Baron’s men a couple of weeks ago? Maybe it was a mistake to bring her.
“Make us!” the guard yelled back.
Trask held up his badge and the guard laughed.
Trask glanced back at the carriage. Maybe he should just get in and go back, and tell Osgar they tried and couldn’t get into the castle.
Matilda walked over and waved up at the guard. “Hi, Rainbow!”
Trask tried to put himself back in front of Matilda but it was too late. The guard had seen her. But instead of ordering a barrage of arrows at one of Krim’s most notorious mass murderers, the guard smiled shyly and gave Matilda a little wave.
Trask decided not to ask about that.
“We’re looking for information the Baron might have about the griefer who’s been plaguing the city!” he yelled up at the gatehouse window.
“Oh, in that case,” the guard disappeared from the window, popped out seconds later on the ground, and pulled back the iron bars that held the gate shut. “Why didn’t you say so right away?” The big man nodded at Matilda, checked Joe’s badge, then let them in.
“That’s Rainbow Squirtle,” Matilda said as the guard pulled the gate back shut. “Good man in a fight.”
“I don’t suppose you saw any cargo wagons headed our way?” Rainbow asked them. “We were supposed to get a supply shipment yesterday.”
“All the griefing disrupted delivery schedules yesterday,” Trask said. “Is the Baron in?”
“He’s around here somewhere.” Rainbow turned around and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hey, Baron!”
Things were casual out here in the wastelands.
There was no answer.
“He must be in the basement with the prisoners,” said Rainbow. “Why don’t you guys just go in? See that blue door on the left? Go down the hallway and take the stairs down to the dungeon. It’s just me here right now, and I’ve got to stay out by the gate. We’ve got a big battle coming up, you know, and the other side might decide to try a spot of assassination.”
“That two-week time out must be brutal,” Matilda said.
“I know. Right? It used to be, if you killed someone while they were in the city, they’d just come right out of the gate again, so there wasn’t any point to skulking around assassinating your enemy. Gave you a chance to organize, train, get your logistics in order, you know? Now we need twenty-four-hour guards on every supply clerk, every squad leader, every armorer, every training officer… Anyway, that’s why I’m here by myself. If you two want to sign up…” Rainbow raised an eyebrow at Joe and Matilda.
“No servants?” Trask asked. He would have expected the Baron to have a full staff in a castle. Wasn’t there dusting, and butlering, and… Trask didn’t know what other jobs were involved in keeping a castle running, but he was sure there were many.
“Hiring servants is tough these days,” said the guard. “Everyone wants to go into battle, nobody wants to scrub the privies.”
Trask made a mental note not to visit the Baron’s privies.
“Oh, and try not to annoy the big guy too much,” Rainbow said. “He’s in a foul mood because of supply holdups. He’s been trying to restrain himself and not kill any of us, because of the whole two-week thing, but, well, self-restraint is not an infinite resource. So, you know, if he’s holding a hot poker, stay well back.”
Chapter 26: Trask visits the Baron’s dungeon
The Baron was, as advertised, in the dungeon with the prisoners. He had stripped down to just a linen shirt, now splattered with blood.
There was also a little blood on his face, which he was wiping off with a rag.
Trask could see that the man’s bulk was all muscle.
The Baron stood next to a prisoner tied to a rack. The victim was bare above the waist, lines of red welts crisscrossing his chest.
Trask didn’t recognize him at first, due to the black eye, swollen nose, and a three-day-old beard.
The prisoner slowly opened an eye, saw Trask, and croaked, “Please help.”
Trask couldn’t be expected to recognize every random person on Krim, but there was something familiar about the man’s hair and bone structure. “Cyril? Cyril Booker? The AviNewz editor?”
“Oh my god, I’m glad to see you,” croaked the prisoner. “Can you save me?”
“I’d rather not get involved,” Trask said.
The Baron turned around. “And who the hell are you?” he said.
Trask drew himself up and patted his badge. “I’m…”
“Never mind,” said the Baron. “I don’t care. Oh, hello, Matilda.” The Baron nodded at the fighter with respect.
Trask was about to sputter with indignation but then there was a muffled moan from a dark corner. Trask turned around.
It was the process server. Tied up, but disappointingly not as damaged as Cyril.
If anyone could use a bit of torture, it was a person who came to the grid, violated people’s privacy, and brought real-world issues to a place that was supposed to be a safe refuge from modern life.
Crewe turned imploring eyes up at Trask, moaned through the gag, and struggled against the ropes tied around their legs and arms.
They weren’t worth worrying about.
Trask turned back to the Baron. “We’ve had some attacks against merchants in town, and at least one fire. We’re thinking there might be a griefer out there. We’ve got a few questions for you. Do you mind accompanying us back to the city to help us with our inquiries?”
“I do mind,” said the Baron. “I’m busy.” He gestured expansively at the two prisoners. “There’s a battle coming up. Ademar’s bringing the last set of recruits up today, we’ve got the last of our supplies on the way, and we’re heading out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Margrave Ademar,” Joe said. “Head of the Baron’s army. Famous war hero.”
“I know who she is,” said Trask.
“Yeah, Ademar’s pretty good,” the Baron said. “Can motivate folks. Good fighter to have on your side.”
“Right, right,” said Trask. “So the reason we’re here is that we’ve had a griefer in the city, shooting at noobs and tourists…”
“Don’t know anything about that,” said Baron. “And none of my people do, either.”
“Maybe someone is trying to get you to notice them…”
“Well, then, I haven’t noticed them yet. Plus, I’ve been here all week.”
“I just saw you in town yesterday,” said Trask, wondering why the Baron was lying about where he’d been. Maybe he was hiding something. Or maybe he was just the kind of guy who created his own reality and didn’t care if it was actually true or not.
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” said the Baron.
Which was just cruel. He was introduced to Trask at the Chamber a month ago, and, before that, Trask had met him in passing at the City Hall at least twice.
“Just go with it,” Joe told Trask in a low voice. Matilda was walking around, checking out the torture equipment.
“There were witnesses,” Trask told the Baron.
“No, there weren’t,” said the Baron, and snapped the bloody rag against Cyril’s chest.
Trask flinched. Cyril gasped then slumped against his restraints. Joe poked Trask’s side.
“I must have been mistaken,” Trask mumbled, then forced himself to look the Baron in the eye. “Anyway, the griefer — or griefers — have been shooting not just at tourists but also merchants and other civilians. And they killed an artist.”
The Baron shrugged.
“And tried to burn down the newspaper building.”
“Good,” said the Baron.
“And tortured and killed a delivery driver from Krim Supply and Logistics.”
The Baron’s head snapped up. “Is that why my supplies aren’t here yet?”
“The attacks have disrupted all the shipping in Krim,” said Trask. “And not just because the griefers are going after delivery drivers, either. When a griefer starts shooting, the traffic snarls and it takes hours to straighten it out again.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”
“You’ve got the biggest guild in Krim,” Trask said. “And you know the people who run all the others. If you could come back to the city, and everyone put their heads together, I’m sure you could put an immediate stop to the griefing.”
“I already told you, I’m busy. The last set of recruits are on their way.”
Trask decided not to tell him that the recruits had probably all chopped each others’ heads off the night before. He glanced over at Crewe.
“The other possibility is that the process server is behind the attacks,” Trask said. “The thinking is that they’re finding it hard to subpoena people in Krim, so they’re using the attacks to flush them out.”
Crewe shook their head furiously.
“A process server?” The Baron narrowed his eyes and turned. Crewe cowered harder under the Baron’s gaze, eyes wide and panicked. “Willie didn’t tell me you were a process server.”
Quimby shouldn’t have told grid management about holding Crewe prisoner, Trask thought. But he was relieved that Lockton didn’t force Quimby to release Crewe. Contacting the Baron was a good move. From what he heard, the Baron was good at keeping people prisoner.
“We don’t need no stinking process servers on Krim.” The Baron spit on the dungeon’s stone floor.
Crewe whimpered through their gag.
“I think I’ll take them on the road with me tomorrow,” the Baron added. “They’ll provide entertainment and education for the squads.” The Baron looked around. “I’ve got a portable travel torture kit somewhere.”
A fighter Trask didn’t immediately recognize peered in from around the corner. “Margrave Ademar is here,” the woman said. “Oh, hi, Matilda.” Matilda nodded back.
“Here in the castle?” asked Baron, throwing the rag down on the floor.
“No, she’s taking the recruits to the Field of Blood and Woe,” said the fighter.
“Boot camp is brutal,” Joe told Trask in a whisper.
“But she’ll be over as soon as she gets them settled.”
“Good,” said the Baron. “Tell her to meet me in the dining room. Then fetch one of the cooks.” He paused. “Also, remind me to bring my travel torture kit.”
“Oh, fun!” the fighter said.
These people were all monsters, Trask thought, but didn’t say anything. Then he remembered the fighter’s name. Lotte. Lotte Lauridsen. She’d just returned from some local war up in the northern mountains.
“Do you mind if we ask your prisoner some questions first?” Trask thought that Crewe might be a bit more forthcoming now that they’d seen what the Baron was capable of.
“I do mind,” the Baron said.
“If they’re behind the griefing, and tell us who they’re working with, we might be able to put an end to the attacks and all the delivery schedules will get back to normal.”
“Well, in that case…” The Baron scratched his beard. “Just don’t pull any teeth or fingernails. I want to save those. And don’t do any organ damage. They need to last a while.” The Baron looked sternly at Matilda when he said this.
“No problem, boss!” She snapped off a salute.
“You sure you don’t want to come north with us? I’ve got a squad leader job you’d be perfect for.”
“I’d love to,” she said. “But I’ve got a sworn enemy to find and have to stick around the city to do it.”
Trask made a mental note to ask Matilda about who the sworn enemy was, once everything had settled down.
“Well, if you ever change your mind,” Baron said. “… or if you need a place to torture your guy. I’ve got a torture dungeon in the guild hall on Knots Hollow. Tell Danny I sent you.”
“Appreciate the offer,” Matilda said.
“Just out of curiosity,” said Trask, “why are you torturing the reporter?” He nodded at Cyril Booker. “Does he know military secrets or something?”
Cyril shook his head furiously. “No, no, I swear.” His voice was thin and hoarse. “I’m the community editor. I mostly cover fashion and the zoning board of appeals.”
The zoning board of appeals. Of course. Trask now knew why the Baron wanted the newspaper shut down and its editors dead. The wrong zoning decision could keep the Baron from expanding his operations in the city. He was reputed to make most of his in-world revenues from property rentals. In fact, he owned half the commercial space on Leadenhall Street.
The Baron’s face reddened. “My Solstice Ball armor was not a Linda Kellie freebie,” he growled. “My boots were not part of a default avatar outfit.” He picked up a knife from his little table of torture implements. “And my cloak was not off the rack!” He swiped the knife across Cyril’s neck and a spray of blood forced Trask to jump back.
So maybe it wasn’t about the zoning board of appeals.
Cyril gurgled, his eyes bulging out, then sagged lifeless in the restraints.
The Baron cleaned the knife off with a fresh rag.
“Well, I’ll go burn these clothes and get cleaned up,” he said, turning to face them. The Baron’s face was no longer red, but his formerly white shirt was now a deep burgundy. “Holler if you need anything.” He nodded at Matilda as he left the room.
She turned towards Crewe and her knife flashed in her hands, spun in the air in front of her, and disappeared again. “I want to know everything about how you find people,” she said.
“And the griefers,” Trask added.
“And the griefers.”The Baron was, as advertised, in the dungeon with the prisoners. He had stripped down to just a linen shirt, now splattered with blood.
There was also a little blood on his face, which he was wiping off with a rag.
Trask could see that the man’s bulk was all muscle.
The Baron stood next to a prisoner tied to a rack. The victim was bare above the waist, lines of red welts crisscrossing his chest.
Trask didn’t recognize him at first, due to the black eye, swollen nose, and a three-day-old beard.
The prisoner slowly opened an eye, saw Trask, and croaked, “Please help.”
Trask couldn’t be expected to recognize every random person on Krim, but there was something familiar about the man’s hair and bone structure. “Cyril? Cyril Booker? The AviNewz editor?”
“Oh my god, I’m glad to see you,” croaked the prisoner. “Can you save me?”
“I’d rather not get involved,” Trask said.
The Baron turned around. “And who the hell are you?” he said.
Trask drew himself up and patted his badge. “I’m…”
“Never mind,” said the Baron. “I don’t care. Oh, hello, Matilda.” The Baron nodded at the fighter with respect.
Trask was about to sputter with indignation but then there was a muffled moan from a dark corner. Trask turned around.
It was the process server. Tied up, but disappointingly not as damaged as Cyril.
If anyone could use a bit of torture, it was a person who came to the grid, violated people’s privacy, and brought real-world issues to a place that was supposed to be a safe refuge from modern life.
Crewe turned imploring eyes up at Trask, moaned through the gag, and struggled against the ropes tied around their legs and arms.
They weren’t worth worrying about.
Trask turned back to the Baron. “We’ve had some attacks against merchants in town, and at least one fire. We’re thinking there might be a griefer out there. We’ve got a few questions for you. Do you mind accompanying us back to the city to help us with our inquiries?”
“I do mind,” said the Baron. “I’m busy.” He gestured expansively at the two prisoners. “There’s a battle coming up. Ademar’s bringing the last set of recruits up today, we’ve got the last of our supplies on the way, and we’re heading out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Margrave Ademar,” Joe said. “Head of the Baron’s army. Famous war hero.”
“I know who she is,” said Trask.
“Yeah, Ademar’s pretty good,” the Baron said. “Can motivate folks. Good fighter to have on your side.”
“Right, right,” said Trask. “So the reason we’re here is that we’ve had a griefer in the city, shooting at noobs and tourists…”
“Don’t know anything about that,” said Baron. “And none of my people do, either.”
“Maybe someone is trying to get you to notice them…”
“Well, then, I haven’t noticed them yet. Plus, I’ve been here all week.”
“I just saw you in town yesterday,” said Trask, wondering why the Baron was lying about where he’d been. Maybe he was hiding something. Or maybe he was just the kind of guy who created his own reality and didn’t care if it was actually true or not.
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” said the Baron.
Which was just cruel. He was introduced to Trask at the Chamber a month ago, and, before that, Trask had met him in passing at the City Hall at least twice.
“Just go with it,” Joe told Trask in a low voice. Matilda was walking around, checking out the torture equipment.
“There were witnesses,” Trask told the Baron.
“No, there weren’t,” said the Baron, and snapped the bloody rag against Cyril’s chest.
Trask flinched. Cyril gasped then slumped against his restraints. Joe poked Trask’s side.
“I must have been mistaken,” Trask mumbled, then forced himself to look the Baron in the eye. “Anyway, the griefer — or griefers — have been shooting not just at tourists but also merchants and other civilians. And they killed an artist.”
The Baron shrugged.
“And tried to burn down the newspaper building.”
“Good,” said the Baron.
“And tortured and killed a delivery driver from Krim Supply and Logistics.”
The Baron’s head snapped up. “Is that why my supplies aren’t here yet?”
“The attacks have disrupted all the shipping in Krim,” said Trask. “And not just because the griefers are going after delivery drivers, either. When a griefer starts shooting, the traffic snarls and it takes hours to straighten it out again.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”
“You’ve got the biggest guild in Krim,” Trask said. “And you know the people who run all the others. If you could come back to the city, and everyone put their heads together, I’m sure you could put an immediate stop to the griefing.”
“I already told you, I’m busy. The last set of recruits are on their way.”
Trask decided not to tell him that the recruits had probably all chopped each others’ heads off the night before. He glanced over at Crewe.
“The other possibility is that the process server is behind the attacks,” Trask said. “The thinking is that they’re finding it hard to subpoena people in Krim, so they’re using the attacks to flush them out.”
Crewe shook their head furiously.
“A process server?” The Baron narrowed his eyes and turned. Crewe cowered harder under the Baron’s gaze, eyes wide and panicked. “Willie didn’t tell me you were a process server.”
Quimby shouldn’t have told grid management about holding Crewe prisoner, Trask thought. But he was relieved that Lockton didn’t force Quimby to release Crewe. Contacting the Baron was a good move. From what he heard, the Baron was good at keeping people prisoner.
“We don’t need no stinking process servers on Krim.” The Baron spit on the dungeon’s stone floor.
Crewe whimpered through their gag.
“I think I’ll take them on the road with me tomorrow,” the Baron added. “They’ll provide entertainment and education for the squads.” The Baron looked around. “I’ve got a portable travel torture kit somewhere.”
A fighter Trask didn’t immediately recognize peered in from around the corner. “Margrave Ademar is here,” the woman said. “Oh, hi, Matilda.” Matilda nodded back.
“Here in the castle?” asked Baron, throwing the rag down on the floor.
“No, she’s taking the recruits to the Field of Blood and Woe,” said the fighter.
“Boot camp is brutal,” Joe told Trask in a whisper.
“But she’ll be over as soon as she gets them settled.”
“Good,” said the Baron. “Tell her to meet me in the dining room. Then fetch one of the cooks.” He paused. “Also, remind me to bring my travel torture kit.”
“Oh, fun!” the fighter said.
These people were all monsters, Trask thought, but didn’t say anything. Then he remembered the fighter’s name. Lotte. Lotte Lauridsen. She’d just returned from some local war up in the northern mountains.
“Do you mind if we ask your prisoner some questions first?” Trask thought that Crewe might be a bit more forthcoming now that they’d seen what the Baron was capable of.
“I do mind,” the Baron said.
“If they’re behind the griefing, and tell us who they’re working with, we might be able to put an end to the attacks and all the delivery schedules will get back to normal.”
“Well, in that case…” The Baron scratched his beard. “Just don’t pull any teeth or fingernails. I want to save those. And don’t do any organ damage. They need to last a while.” The Baron looked sternly at Matilda when he said this.
“No problem, boss!” She snapped off a salute.
“You sure you don’t want to come north with us? I’ve got a squad leader job you’d be perfect for.”
“I’d love to,” she said. “But I’ve got a sworn enemy to find and have to stick around the city to do it.”
Trask made a mental note to ask Matilda about who the sworn enemy was, once everything had settled down.
“Well, if you ever change your mind,” Baron said. “… or if you need a place to torture your guy. I’ve got a torture dungeon in the guild hall on Knots Hollow. Tell Danny I sent you.”
“Appreciate the offer,” Matilda said.
“Just out of curiosity,” said Trask, “why are you torturing the reporter?” He nodded at Cyril Booker. “Does he know military secrets or something?”
Cyril shook his head furiously. “No, no, I swear.” His voice was thin and hoarse. “I’m the community editor. I mostly cover fashion and the zoning board of appeals.”
The zoning board of appeals. Of course. Trask now knew why the Baron wanted the newspaper shut down and its editors dead. The wrong zoning decision could keep the Baron from expanding his operations in the city. He was reputed to make most of his in-world revenues from property rentals. In fact, he owned half the commercial space on Leadenhall Street.
The Baron’s face reddened. “My Solstice Ball armor was not a Linda Kellie freebie,” he growled. “My boots were not part of a default avatar outfit.” He picked up a knife from his little table of torture implements. “And my cloak was not off the rack!” He swiped the knife across Cyril’s neck and a spray of blood forced Trask to jump back.
So maybe it wasn’t about the zoning board of appeals.
Cyril gurgled, his eyes bulging out, then sagged lifeless in the restraints.
The Baron cleaned the knife off with a fresh rag.
“Well, I’ll go burn these clothes and get cleaned up,” he said, turning to face them. The Baron’s face was no longer red, but his formerly white shirt was now a deep burgundy. “Holler if you need anything.” He nodded at Matilda as he left the room.
She turned towards Crewe and her knife flashed in her hands, spun in the air in front of her, and disappeared again. “I want to know everything about how you find people,” she said.
“And the griefers,” Trask added.
“And the griefers.”
Chapter 27: Trask talks to Crewe
“This might take a while,” Matilda said. She stretched out her arms and cracked her knuckles, then rolled her shoulders.
Joe looked around the torture cell. “I’ll go get some chairs.”
He disappeared down the hallway.
“Do you want me to torture them a bit first?” Matilda pointed her nail-trimming knife at Crewe. “Soften them up a bit for you. Or do you want to get straight into the questioning?” She tapped the knife against her fingertip, so it made a light clicking sound against her fingernail that still managed to echo off the stone walls. “The Baron told me not to rip out their teeth or nails, but he didn’t say anything about eyeballs.”
Crewe shook their head and moaned.
“Why don’t we start with some questions,” Trask said. “Then, if I don’t like the answers… I’ll take a walk. Yes, I’ll take a nice walk. Stretch my legs after that long carriage ride.”
Joe came back with a couple of rickety wood chairs, followed by a man Trask recognized but couldn’t quite put a name to. Crewe made a beseeching, whimpering sound through their gag.
Trask sat down gingerly, back a bit from Crewe to avoid any potential blood spatter, and glanced back at the newcomer. Default assassin avatar outfit eighteen, no crossbow, not a default face but a natural, slightly asymmetric one. Trask had seen the man before, outside the Barley Mow, then on Banking Street when he’d bumped into the Baron, then again at the Kafay Cafe.
“Hi, I’m Ellison,” the man said. “Don’t mind me.” He brushed some dungeon dust off the heavy wooden door frame and leaned against it.
He must have arrived with Margrave Ademar. Trask wondered what particular skills Ellison had that made him interesting to the Baron. Not assassination, certainly, not with the default avatar outfit. No self-respecting assassin would be that blatant. Unless that was part of the disguise…
“Thank you,” Crewe said hoarsely and Trask looked back at the prisoner as Matilda tossed the gag to Joe. Then she hooked a hand under Crewe’s armpit and lifted them to their feet.
Crewe stumbled and Matilda had to hold them up for a couple of seconds until they could stand on their own.
“Now, where should we put them?”
Trask looked around. There was a torture rack, but that held Cyril’s dead body. He didn’t want to touch that. There was a table with heavy shackles for wrists and ankles. And, on the wall on the other side of the room, an iron maiden, but that was probably more for show than anything else.
“I can just stand here.” Crewe looked back from the iron maiden and licked their chapped lips. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” They carefully avoided looking at Ellison, Trask noticed. Maybe Ellison was the Baron’s new torturer. His new travel torturer, since Danmak “Danny” the Bonekeeper preferred to stay in the city. Ellison did have a hardened look.
Well, might as well get right into it, Trask thought. “Did you hire the griefers that have been shooting at people around the city?”
“No,” Crewe croaked. “Why would I?”
“To flush out your targets,” said Trask. “Once they’re dead and off Krim for two weeks, you’d have plenty of time to serve papers on them.”
“I didn’t know Krim had a two-week rule,” said Crewe. “And I only get paid if I serve papers in-world.”
“So who do you have working for you in Krim?”
“Nobody,” said Crewe. “Nobody wants to work here.”
“You could hire someone who’s already here,” said Trask.
“I didn’t,” Crewe said.
Trask looked at Matilda. “Are they lying?”
She shrugged. “Want me to start peeling skin?”
“He’s telling the truth,” said Ellison.
Trask glanced back. So Ellison already had a stab at Crewe. So to speak. Other than the beating from last night, Crewe didn’t show any obvious signs of torture. Ellison was good. “So how do they find their targets then?” he asked.
“I investigate,” Crewe said.
“They talk to friends and family out in the real world,” said Ellison. “Check their socials. Most people blab.”
“And if that doesn’t work, what then?” Matilda asked. “Say, if their friends haven’t heard a peep from them and they canceled all their social accounts?”
“The faces,” Crewe mumbled. “Most people use their regular faces. They like to be able to recognize themselves in the mirror.”
Matilda shook her head. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now we’re back to square one,” said Trask. “We’re no closer to finding out who the griefers are.”
“The one I saw works at city hall,” said Crewe. “I swear.”
“He’s telling the truth,” said Ellison.
“Let’s go,” said Trask. He wanted to have a private chat out of Ellison’s sight. Maybe up in the kitchen. Near the food.
“Can I have a few minutes first?” said Matilda.
“Sure. We’ll be upstairs.” Trask levered himself up from the chair and gestured for Joe to follow him. Whatever it was she and Ellison planned to do to Crewe, he didn’t want to be a witness to it.