Chapter 136: Spilling the tea
Sitting up straighter, Sterling cleared his throat as he prepared to give a detailed report of everything he recently discovered.
"I found the person manufacturing the weapons."
Months earlier, when the weapons and ammunition were discovered inside the first warehouse they investigated, Draven ordered several pieces to be sent to an inspector who specialized in firearms and military supplies.
Upon close examination of the weapons, the inspector found a small maker’s mark worked into the metal of several pieces—a geometric emblem that could be traced to a particular manufacturer.
It was a massive clue that brought them one step closer to finding the mastermind behind the operation. There was, however, one glaring problem.
The manufacturer was not in Arden and had never been to Arden. The maker’s mark belonged to a manufacturer in Norvik, a country south of the continent.
That alone was a problem. Too much was happening within the kingdom. The investigation into the smuggling operation was expanding, and the affairs of Norham still required his attention.
He could not simply leave Arden for God-knew-how-long in pursuit of a foreign weapons manufacturer, especially at a time like this, when Parliament was more divided than ever and unrest was slowly brewing on the horizon.
He was needed in the country, and Sterling could leave in his place. So he sent him south.
"And?" Draven prompted, gesturing for him to continue.
Sterling rested one hand against his knee as the carriage began to move. "It took some persuasion. The man was not too keen on speaking with a foreigner who was prying into his business. He was even less interested when he understood my motives."
It was not at all surprising. They anticipated this sort of pushback.
"What changed his mind?" Draven asked curiously.
The carriage rocked as they rode through an uneven stretch of road, the wheels jolting over a rut before settling back onto the road.
"In this case, I found that being patient works wonders, especially when trying to wear a man down." Sterling said, the corners of his lips curling upward. "A few pouches of gold also helped loosen his tongue."
It turned out that the manufacturer had been producing large quantities of ammunition for one particular customer. The question was why.
Why were those firearms being smuggled into Arden to begin with?
Sterling explained how he spent days gradually forming a rapport with the said manufacturer, tenuous as it was.
When he first confronted the man with the maker’s mark, the manufacturer became defensive. He feared that any admission could bring scrutiny upon his business, particularly if the ammunition was discovered to have entered an illegal trade.
Sterling therefore offered him something the man valued more than his pride.
Protection for his livelihood, at least as far as both Sterling and Draven’s influence could reasonably extend.
Eventually, the manufacturer’s resistance weakened.
"He has been working with this buyer for almost two years, and after so many repeated orders, they formed a sort of routine," Sterling said. "Friendly enough that the relationship has become rather profitable for him."
"Does he know what the ammunition is being used for?"
"No. At least, he claims he did not know that the weapons were being smuggled into Arden."
Draven considered that. "Do you believe him?"
"I believe he has convinced himself that he had no reason to ask. In his own words, he did not see any reason to go poking around in his client’s affairs. He was already being handsomely compensated for his work. He might have suspected something, but for a man like him, the money was all that mattered."
"So what did he know?" Draven asked.
The mystery was slowly unfurling before him, but there were still so many missing pieces that prevented him from unraveling it completely. Each answer seemed to produce another question, and every new name only widened the investigation.
"The buyer was a foreigner. He could not place the man’s accent, and he said the buyer would always evade the question whenever he asked about his nationality. Apparently, the buyer speaks like someone who has spent considerable time travelling. His accent was a mixture of traces from several accents, but nothing strong enough to establish where he came from."
"Did he give the manufacturer a name?"
Sterling nodded before answering. "Marcel Duvain."
Draven repeated it under his breath. It was yet another addition to the long list of names they needed to investigate.
Marcel Duvain.
It sounded foreign enough to fit the description, but names could be manufactured as easily as documents. A man buying weapons for an illicit operation would have little reason to hand a manufacturer his true identity.
"And I take it that you have already looked into this Marcel Duvain?"
His aide was many things, but efficiency was undoubtedly one of his defining qualities. Sterling’s dogged determination to succeed at everything he did made him and Draven such a good fit for each other.
"Was there ever a doubt?" Sterling quirked a brow. "I began making inquiries around the ports."
Sterling went on to explain what he discovered after returning to Arden. He spent time among merchants, shipping agents, warehouse workers, and others whose livelihoods depended upon the movement of goods through the country.
The name surfaced more than once.
Some of them had heard the name, and even fewer had actually spoken to the man before. From what they told him, Marcel was a seafarer who worked aboard a cargo transport ship.
Nobody seemed to know Marcel Duvain well enough to point Sterling directly toward him or tell him about the man’s whereabouts.
Another man even claimed that he had done business with Marcel in the past. His description of the man matched the one the manufacturer gave. But it had been years since he last interacted with Marcel, since the man hardly ever came to port anymore.
The kind man even helpfully offered to inquire further about Marcel and see if he could uncover anything useful.
It was frustratingly little information to go on. One thing was clear, though. Marcel Duvain had connections in Arden.
Draven looked toward the darkened carriage window. Outside, the streets passed in blurred fragments of lamplight and shadow.
"So many loose threads." He muttered. "If only this conspiracy was easily unraveled by simply tugging on one of the strings." He heaved a tired sigh. "Alas, we aren’t so blessed."
This Marcel would prove troublesome, like the many others, for sure.
"What about the other thing I asked you to look into?" Draven asked.
The thing in question was poison. But not just any type of poison. It was unlike the ordinary substances one might slip into a cup or mix into food. It could certainly be ingested, and sufficient exposure could cause severe and lasting harm, but its more unusual property was its ability to penetrate the skin gradually.
Prolonged contact allowed the substance to enter the body little by little, making it particularly difficult to detect while exposure continued.
That was what made it so useful to someone who wanted the effects to appear as illness rather than an obvious act of poisoning. The victim could grow progressively weaker without anyone immediately suspecting that something had been deliberately introduced into their body.
The poison was also extremely rare.
Draven never broadcast this part of his investigation, hoarding it like a well-guarded secret. Too many people knowing about it would only increase the chances of the information reaching the very person he was trying to find.