8 – 13 Vento 3020
After a fifnight of being feted by the Khundari of Zhan-Tor in gratitude for their ending of the threat of Horgüd Winderwalker and his air cult, the Hand figured it was time to return to Avantir. When Captain K’Jorul informed them, via Mariala’s Remote Writing, that he would be taking the Wind of Kasira on a trial run soon, the solution seemed obvious. With all repairs and refitting complete, he said he could be in the port of Talkir on the 12th of the month, ready to return them to the Imperial capital in style and at their leisure.
Making their goodbyes to Lord Grimbold and his family early in the morning of the 13th, the friends found a large group of Khundari and Umantari citizens waiting to see them off from the docks. Once on the opposite shore of Lake Cirn they found two coaches waiting for them in Torum-Tüm, a thoughtful touch arranged by the city fathers of Zhan-Tor. The luxury vehicles made the journey down to the port of Talkir both comfortable and quick. Arriving in the late afternoon, the Hand were surprised to find Captain K’Jorul and an squad of four well-armed crewmen awaiting them at the posting house just inside the city’s main gate.
“Apologies for the melodrama, m’lords, m’lady,” the captain said, making a casual bow to his employers, “but the situation in town is such that I felt it were better you not travel unescorted to the ship. Not that you aren’t well able to take care of yourselves, of course, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate being blindsided by any trouble.”
“What situation, and what sort of trouble, Belith?” Mariala asked, a note of eagerness in her voice. While the last few days in Zhan-Tor had been pleasant enough, she had found herself growing bored, and the long day of travel had left her filled with pent-up energy rather than tired. She found the possibility of burning it off with some action strangely appealing.
“Well, it seems that a suspiciously large number of people have been going missing the past two months – a number that has been growing at an accelerating rate recently. Some of the missing have been turning up in the sewers under the city, dead and most horribly mutilated, and in increasing numbers over the last month. In recent days they’ve even been found floating in the harbor.
“It seems that the focus of the disappearances is a local museum – the Hardeshan Museum of Nature and History.”
“Oh, that’s a pretty well-known private museum,” Vulk said. “Kasira knows Bizwik has been going on about it ever since we arrived in Avantir.”
“Yes,” K’Jorul laughed. “He sailed with us specifically so he could visit the place, and was terribly disappointed to find it was recently closed.” His smile faded. “In fact, it is in some danger of being closed down for good, apparently, if the mystery of these disappearances and deaths are not soon solved. Which brings me to the other reason I’m here – Ser Tomas met yesterday with the museum’s director, a Lord Kordon Hardeshan, and apparently convinced the man that the Hand of Fortune was just what he needed to save his beloved family institution.
“Lord Hardeshan has sent a formal request to the Wind, requesting your aid as soon as may be. Of course I committed you to nothing, but as the Museum lies between this gate and the docks, I thought you might wish to at least talk to the man…”