Montfort was starting to show signs of returning to what passed for normal
as the festival crowds began to thin out, but with the ending of the
festival went the bright booths, the street entertainers, the rich rubbing
shoulders with the gypsy; leaving a town looking tired and a little
tattered. At least until the rubbish had been swept away and the rhythm of
the town had returned to its own pulse. The feel of the town, and the
sight of the zombie streetsweepers, only added to Emmon's sour mood. After
his hot start on the Menagrem case a week earlier all the leads had
fizzled. There had been no more sightings of a brightly-garbed mage, and
each day Mister December had seemed to have had pressing business far from
his shop.

Nor had his interviews with the other witnesses proved useful; outside of
providing him with notes to prove that he had earned his five gold a day.
Some coppers and silvers around the shanty town had only substantiated
what he had heard at The Hung Dog - that a fancy mage had been present the
night of the fire; though an old man named, Gant, had added a description
(from very close up) of a thin blade who had offered to cut him a new
mouth. And it had been confirmed that a fancy lady with black hair and
raggedly-dressed gent had been with the mage and the knife. Nothing new
there - it was already known that Miss Batista Dyer, cloth merchant, and
Mr. Ournel, King's envoy had been present.

He had managed to interview Miss Dyer. Not an easy interview for several
reasons. First, he had had to stop appreciating her dark-haired, exotic
beauty, and secondly, he had the uncomfortable impression that his
memories were not quite his own anymore. He knew that she was a mute and a
telepath, and while he had clearly written notes of the discussion he had
a feeling that he had written down what she wanted him to. Nor had a
interviewing her staff, or innocently talking with Councilwoman Crisir,
given him any information that might prove incriminating against the cloth
merchant. There were strong hints that she had been a Refuser, and had
been known in Montfort under a different name once, but her current
reputation as a upstanding, charitable business woman was what he mostly
met. In the face of rebirth and renewed prosperity the stigma of "Refuser"
was quickly being forgotten.

The only other interview he had managed had been with the young woodsman,
Lucc, but the boy had stuck determinedly to his story about the two
mystery men being adventurers in for the festival.

He had found access to Lawrince Ournel impossible for now; the Council and
the Havenwood royalty had the Envoy tightly scheduled. And the other
woodsman, Yals, was nearly as elusive as the other two mystery men.

There had also been one other man mentioned during his search through the
shanty town - a blond-haired local, who was nameless and shadowy.

Emmon shook his head - over half the witnesses in this case were as
elusive as the ghosts that were said to haunt the woods. And he hoped -
nearly prayed - that today Mister December would be substantial. And
_present_ in the House of December!!

The private investigator checked his hair in shop window, smoothed his
good tunic, and made his way over to the jewelry shop.

The bell rang as he opened the door, and he allowed himself a moment of
absolute awe as he again looked at the glittering, glowing display.

[December]

December eyed the man as he entered.   He was well aware of who this
visitor was, and had had advanced warning of his arrival.   Lovvorn was
safely hidden away, as he usually was when this particular man
was snooping about.   Today, however, December decided it
was time to do more than play 'hide-and-seek.'     He had to sway
this gentleman's curiosity elsewhere.

"Welcome to the House of December, " he said.   "How may I serve
you?"

[Emmon]

"Hello," Emmon said, coming further into the store, "I'm looking for Mr.
December. Is he in today?"

He looked up at the massive, white haired and white skinned, man, and had
few doubts that he was looking at the owner. But it was never wise to
trust even what seemed obvious.

[December]

"Indeed he is...  you are speaking with him now."

[Emmon]

Emmon Filgers had learned a little of Mr. December during his unproductive
week of investigation; a wealthy recluse who was proned to quiet,
charitable acts. An upright citizen of Montfort (the later part leaving
room for some doubts to the "upright" part). But none of the reports had
prepared the detective for the man's massive size and sheer cold.
Intimidating on all fronts.

Filgers kept to his most business-like demeanor and said, "If you have a
couple of minutes, sir, I was hoping you could answer some questions about
a patron of your store? I do apologize for taking up your valuable time."

[December]

"Ah, yes.  I was told that a man had been making inquiries.  I assume you
are that man?  I will try to help you if I can, You should know that this
is an exclusive store, and some of my patrons require... or even demand...
privacy and security in all their dealings."

[Emmon]

"You are correct in your assumptions, Mr. December," Emmon replied, "And I
do understand the need for confidentiality. I understand that very well."

Emmon could feel himself getting a bit of neck crick looking up at the
owner of the jewelry store, but he held his ground, and continued, "Nor do
I wish to bring trouble to the good gentleman, but there is a possibility
that he could help in clarifying some key points in a murder
investigation. According to reports he was one of the good samaritans who
helped with the fire in the shanty town, and he may have witnessed
something."

[December]

December nodded, and pretended to think the matter over for a few
moments.

"I see,"  he said finally.  "And this man you are seeking... could you
describe him for me?"

[Emmon]

"A very portly gentleman, with black hair, and a taste for extremely
colorful clothing. Very eyecatching from what I have heard."

[December]

"Ahh, yes,"  said December.  He did an excellent job of pretending to
'suddenly realize' who Emmon was refering to.

"He was a frequent visitor to this shop, but unfortunately, I have not
seen him in many weeks.  He is a mage of some skill.  I believed him to be
a freelance mage... selling his services to those in need of magic.  He
was quite fond of the ladies, and came here to buy expensive gifts for
them.  Very expensive gifts.  He never gave a name, and I have no idea of
his current whereabouts."

December peered out of the window, and then leaned forward to continue at
a much lower volume.

"This mage was known to some of my other customers, and one of them
mentioned that he had seen him at the colleseum... in the company of its
proprietor, Bryce Amberghylles.  There are many rumors associated with
that name, which is why I hesitate to mention it.  If you seek the mage,
you may wish to enquire at the collesum.  Although I would advise against
it."

[Emmon]

The detective pondered the information, and said, "I have heard a few
things about Mr. Amberghylles...." He shrugged, and added, "But there's no
help for it."

[December]

"That is all the help I can offer."

[Emmon]

"And it is appreciated, Sir," Emmon said. He considering whether shaking
hands would be appropriate, but decided against it - he knew from
experience that men December's size had a knack for cutting the blood
supply off in your hand.

"Any help is of use." For a moment he thought about leaving his name - in
case more information was forthcoming, but this too he decided against. In
Montfort, and in his business, it was always wiser to make it hard to be
found. Something this mage seemed to have taken to heart.

So, with a polite nod and a "good day" he left; already considering his
next line of questions at the colisium.