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[Thrax]

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Poppy lay crying on her bed in her rented room at the Justice Inn. How could things have gone so terribly wrong she wondered? She recalled how thrilled she felt when she greeted the Grand Duchess Molly, Duke Will and a courtier named Eru and led them to their table. She had asked them about drinks and served them... then the bread course and finally the stew. That accursed stew! It had been evidently laced with the tenderizer and had sent them all into varying states of near demetia: Molly having conversations with an invisible Lord British, and giggling incessantly and ridiculously; Eru jumping on his horse and galloping about the town as if he were in a race, only to return and ask why he did it. Only Will, who apparently did not eat as much of the stew as the others, maintained some semblance of composure. She did her best to remedy the situation hoping to ask her helper, Jana, about it, but she had vanished from the premises, and still had not been seen. Will escorted his two companions home amidst a profusion of apologies from Poppy and offers to come work for the Duchess at her estate as head chef to make the stew every night. After they left, Liza the Innkeeper gave her three days off work and it was a good thing; she was in no shape to do much of anything except cry.
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Riordan dropped the heavy wooden barrel onto the docks from the ship, a freelance trader that had arrived early this morning from Moonglow. He sat down, letting his legs hang down from the pier toward the water. Ignoring the chiding from another worker who disapproved of his impromptu break, he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. The humidity made labor all the more difficult, and he, being nearer to forty than thirty, simply could not keep up with the younger men. Still, the pay was good, much better than it had been in years past, and he meant to keep at it as long as he could, which would not be very long if he did not stop to rest occasionally. The bright sunlight, glinting off the placid waters of the inlet, blinded him momentarily as he looked out at it, forcing him to turn his gaze downward toward his sandaled feet. He suddenly jumped up, inhaling noisily from the shock of what he saw. Bobbing up and down in the water next to one of the pier's supports was the bloated body of a woman... her face a nauseous pale green color; dead eyes fixed wide open and skyward. Nearly knocking over the barrel, he ran yelling at the top of his lungs for the dock foreman.
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Scaramandine, more commonly referred to as simply 'Scar,' Constable of Papua, knelt down and looked closely at the body of the young woman lying limp at his feet. There were no outstanding marks, no gaping wounds nor bruises, only small lacerations on the face and hands from which dangled bits of torn flesh, no doubt made by the nibbling of fishes. He stood up slowly. Behind him the ever-increasing host of curiosity-seekers backed up to give him room. "It's Jana!" one of them cried. Scar nodded, placing his hands on his hips. He knew her well enough to know that assistant chef at the Inn was not her sole vocation. "Take the body to the Healer's Hut for examination; I want to know how she died by this afternoon, no later," he barked. Instantly a group of four dock workers obeyed. They wrapped the corpse in a woven hemp blanket and hauled it off down the street.

Scar ran his thumb along his thin black goatee for a moment. He turned on his heels and pointed to the dock foreman. "Tell the cooks at the Inn I want to meet with them there in ten minutes. If they are about, go find them," he ordered. Nodding, the man hurried off. Scar then hurried to report the incident to the Magistrate.