“Candidate Bethany Fairbanks did not commit suicide.”


    The dramatic reveal was everything I could have hoped for. Everyone stared at me with wide eyes. The next few minutes would establish my reputation, either positively or very negatively. I could take advantage of either. Since the clues hadn’t been revealed organically, I would have to step in. It was time to take a more active role, anyway.


    “Forgive me for bringing to light what is probably an uncomfortable matter,” I said before they could start asking questions, “but I promise it is necessary. Hearth Keeper Fairbanks, would it be fair to say that Bethany had some sort of condition that made it difficult for her to write by hand?”


    House Holder Fairbanks looked about to explode, but Hearth Keeper Fairbank shushed him. “Yes. She required magical assistance. Why?”


    “Assistant Oxenden,” I said. “Please hand over the suicide note to Hearth Keeper Fairbanks.”


    I was grateful, but somewhat surprised, when he did so without complaint or even confirming my order with Academy Leader Silver.


    Hearth Keeper Fairbanks took one look at the note and then started shaking her head. “This isn’t Bethany’s.”


    “Are you sure?” asked Minister Greenfield.


    “Absolutely,” she said. “Hero Percy was correct. Bethany can only write with artifacts, and they don’t look like this. This looks like Shanelly’s handwriting.”


    I had thought so myself, but that hadn’t been my clue. For all I had known, that had been a handwriting style taught to all young girls in the entire country.


    “Summon Candidate Shanelly Oakswell here,” Academy Leader Silver ordered the staff member.


    I almost said something, but then let it stand. We might as well question her earlier rather than later. While questioning people in private would give me more chances to slip in some more selfish queries, I wasn’t likely to get much useful information from a teenage girl anyway. Shanelly arrived looking nervous but not scared. I did note that they didn’t see fit to summon her parents. Perhaps they were just too used to parents being unavailable to think of it.


    House Holder Fairbanks grabbed the note from his wife and thrust it at her. “Did you write this?”


    “I don’t recognise it,” she said, taking it. Then read further in growing agitation. “What is this? Is Bethany okay?”


    Hearth Keeper Fairbanks was the one to tell her what happened, gently and with grace. Nice women, Hearth Keeper Fairbanks.


    “Candidate Shanelly, I know that you’re afraid, but for your own sake, you need to tell us the truth now,” said Minister Greenfield, playing good cop with unexpected skill.


    Did ministers in this world take confessions? Would this have been part of his official training? Or was he just a gifted amateur?


    “I am telling the truth,” she insisted, wrapping her arms around herself. “I had nothing to do with it. Why would I want to hurt Bethany?”


    “We can all understand how these things can happen,” said Minister Greenfield. “You have spent years dealing with Candidate Bethany already. When you came here, you thought you would finally be free of her. But unexpectedly, you find she is here too. After you meet the dragons, you have an argument. Perhaps you just wanted a word with her, perhaps she provoked you. But things got out of hand, and she ends up falling off the viewing platform. It wasn’t your fault. It just happened.”


    That was a nice theory. Very clever. Very convenient. It moved Candidate Bethany’s death back into accidental and quick territory. If we hadn’t still been standing right below them, I might even have wondered if it was true myself. But while people can fail to notice the strangest of things, I doubted we’d all have missed an entire body falling onto us.


    “Then you panicked,” continued Minister Greenfield. “You didn’t know how to explain it to anyone. But there wasn’t anything you could do. She was already dead. You wrote a suicide note and placed it on her body.”


    “I didn’t!” said Shanelly, now sounding panicky and shrill. “If I was that upset about Bethany being here, I wouldn’t have needed to speak to her. I could have just reported her for cheating on the entrance exam. It’s not like she tried to hide the evidence or anything.”


    “How dare you accuse my Bethany of cheating?” demanded House Holder Fairbanks.


    Even through her fear, Candidate Shanelly rolled her eyes in that ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ expression that only a teenager could truly master.


    “That isn’t important now,” said Academy Leader Silver, quickly.


    I wondered why everyone was so quick to believe that Candidate Bethany had cheated. Did Academy Leader Silver have additional suspicions, or was it just prejudice from whatever form of dyslexia she suffered from? He had, I recalled, been convinced there was no hope of her succeeding after administrating the tests.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    “If you had nothing to do with it,” said House Holder Fairbanks. “Then how do you explain the handwriting?”


    Academy Leader Silver had to put a hand on his arm to stop him from crowding Candidate Shanelly. I figured it had probably gone on long enough. No one was genuinely asking Candidate Shanelly anything. They were just telling her what they wanted to hear. It wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all me, if they successfully pressured her into a false confession.


    “Isn’t that obvious?” I asked rhetorically. “Whoever faked the note copied the style from the Registration of Intent, and then smudged it to conceal any imperfections. They didn’t realise that Shanelly Oakswell had filled in the form on Bethany Fairbank’s behalf, and it was the wrong handwriting entirely.”


    That had been what had made me risk asking about Candidate Bethany’s disability. At the bridge the previous day, Candidate Shanelly might have complained about Candidate Bethany’s tone, but she had written Candidate Bethany’s details in anyway.  Combined with the obvious prejudice against Candidate Bethany, that had led to the abduction that she had a writing-based disability. I had been eighty percent confident. I certainly would have looked incredibly stupid if I’d been wrong.


    <blockquote>


    His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, doesn’t been kidnapping. Abduction, in this sense, is the skill of choosing the most probable conclusion from multiple possibilities. Also, it is bizarre and disturbing to think that if that His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, had been wrong here, he might never have pursued the life’s mission he is so famous for.


    </blockquote>


    “Candidate Shanelly,” I said, taking over the questioning. “Why don’t you have a seat. Take a few deep breaths with me. Are you alright? Shall we get you some water?”


    I painfully dragged a chair around so that I could sit opposite to her, and incidentally, block the sight of House Holder Fairbanks.


    She wiped away some tears and calmed her breathing. “I’m alright.”


    “That’s good. You’re doing very well. I was hoping you could help us answer a few questions. Do you think you can manage that?”


    She nodded.


    “When was the last time you saw Candidate Bethany?” I asked.


    “The ceremony grounds,” she answered quickly.


    “You didn’t walk with her back to the dormitories? Or to the chapel?”


    “I didn’t attend the ceremony. I went straight to bed. I don’t know about Bethany. I separated from her immediately. I was rushing.” Shanelly cast a guilty look over my shoulder, and dropped to a whisper, “I didn’t want to have to walk with her, you see.”


    I did, indeed, see.


    “You don’t know anything more after you reached the viewing platform?” I double-checked. “You didn’t see or hear her again?”


    “No, nothing,” she said, then reconsidered. “Well, I heard her close the door before she walked down the corridor. I remember wondering if there might be some sort of auto-lock, and whether we might have accidentally trapped you in the new section, but I figured someone would have warned us if that was a concern.”


    “When you saw her last, did she seem worried about anything? Acting different in any way?”


    “No,” said Candidate Shanelly. “She seemed perfectly normal. Is she really—”


    “Dead?” I asked bluntly. “I’m afraid she is. But can I ask you to keep this information to yourself until it has been officially announced?”


    Now I was the one keeping her from getting assistance from her parents. What a great guy I was.


    “Yes, yes of course,” she agreed.


    “Does anyone else have any questions for Candidate Shanelly?” I asked, my tone final enough to suggest that everyone had better answer no.


    After a second of silence, I thanked Candidate Shanelly for being so helpful and sent her back to her room. I moved over to sit in front of Hearth Keeper Fairbanks.


    “Did Candidate Bethany attend the purification ceremony?” I asked. “Or did you meet up with her before then?”


    “No,” replied her mother. “We didn’t expect to. Like with Shanelly, we suggested she go to bed, but we were busy getting ready for the purification ceremony. If I’d just told her to come with—”


    I interrupted. “‘If only’s won’t help. We don’t know even how or why she died yet, but chances are if it wasn’t then, it would have been another time. You can’t blame yourself.”


    Unless you killed her. Then you absolutely can blame yourself.


    “Did you notice anything different about her?” I asked. “Did she mention any concerns?”


    “Jus the normal ones about being a new student,” Hearth Keeper Fairbanks said. “She was a little upset about the argument at supper— but that wasn’t anything serious.”


    “Is there anything else you can think of?” I asked.


    “No,” she said. “She was just a child. She’s never done anything to anyone. Will you find out what happened? Will you find justice for my little girl?”


    “With my god as my witness, I swear to unravel the crime,” I replied solemnly.


    <blockquote>


    I think we all mourn the fact that His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, was not, in fact, wearing his cloak of office while vowing to solve the crime. Yes, your whole life has been a lie.


    </blockquote>


    I had the golden ticket now to dig into anything I wanted and ask any questions I wanted. I wasn’t going to let the chance go to waste.


    <table style="width: 90.0081%">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    Memo to Self


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    Stuff to avoid


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    · Becoming a dragon rider


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    Information gathering


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    · Find out about alternative occupations and opportunities


    · - Speak to Minister Greenfield in private


    · - - Find out when he is due to leave before he leaves in four days


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    · Investigate other countries and cultures to see if they’re a better fit


    · - Determine just how far heroic independence goes


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    · Track down itinerary [no point]


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    Opportunities


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    · Sneak out when harvesting night flowers [7 days]


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    Preparations


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    · Beg, borrow or steal clothes of a different colour


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="510">


    · Delay the bonding ceremony as much as possible


    · - Extend investigation


    · - Imply maximum psychic pollution


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>