The mystery did not loosen its grip on Baston's mind even after he returned to the inn. If anything, it tightened.
The woman's words from back then still echoed faintly in his memory. His mind was hovering between the quiet town, the kind mayor, and the miraculous drink.
Every fragment pointed toward the same place which was the mayor's mansion.
The old book had not given him a direct answer. There was only a command that felt deceptively simple which was to set the people free.
It was for the people and it was plural. He wondered if it was pointing toward the people back then.
The one who drank such a strange juice, including the little girl who looked fine and happy. They were not behind the bars and they were not imprisoned but his curiosity took the best of him.
Perhaps, the true prison was not built from the iron bars since it was built from something else.
If the clue began with the little girl and led to the mayor, then the next thread had to be inside that mansion which meant he had to enter it. There must be clue somewhere inside.
Of course, he wouldn't trespass personally.
Baston glanced down at his own body and sighed softly. With his build, sneaking through the guarded walls was an invitation to be hacked into pieces before he even reached the garden fence.
The stealth was not his advantage but the subtlety was. And such subtlety wore the whiskers which were the rats in this case.
No household in this town was free from them and no guard would suspect a rat that was scurrying through the shadows. There was also no wizard who would detect the mana fluctuations from a puppet that emitted none.
After all, his puppets were the extensions of his will but when transformed into the animals, they felt like the living creatures.
They breathed without breathing, they moved without magic, and they existed between the illusion and the reality. It was such a perfect tool for reconnaissance.
*****
At dawn the next day, Baston positioned himself at a distance from the mayor's mansion.
The place stood silent beneath the pale sunlight and its tall gates were guarded by armed men whose the armor reflected the cold discipline rather than the ceremonial pride.
Yesterday had been a performance but today was a routine. Such routine was easier to penetrate.
From beneath his cloak, he released all three puppets. They shifted silently into small gray rats before touching the ground, scattering in three different directions as if it was guided by their instinct.
His consciousness soon split. At first, controlling three perspectives had been dizzying, but now, it felt like juggling the thoughts.
The first rat headed toward the mayor's private quarters. The second one slipped along the outer wall, searching for the underground access. The third one roamed freely, mapping the mansion's interior through the cracks, the beams, and the forgotten passages.
This old mansion was generous with few secrets.
The walls were thick, the floors were layered, and in those layers were several holes that were carved by time and design.
The first rat reached the mayor's room. It waited and listened. There was no breathing, no footsteps, and no shifting paper.
The mayor was absent and there was no servant who dared to enter this chamber casually. Even the dust seemed to hesitate before settling down.
The rat climbed the cabinet and, in the blind corner behind it, transformed. The small gray body elongated, the fur was melting into cloth, and the bones were reshaping without sound.
A hooded figure stood where a rat had been. Baston felt the transformation rippled through his mind.
He had once believed such mid-operation transformations were impossible.
When he first attempted to alter a puppet's form outside the book's confirmation, a sharp pain had pierced his skull like a warning.
Now, the connection between him and his puppets felt thicker. It was stronger like the threads of reinforced steel rather than a fragile silk.
The advancement had such consequences and new capabilities. The hooded puppet soon opened the cabinet carefully.
There was nothing particular inside. The documents were neatly arranged, the ink bottles were sealed, and there was no hidden compartments.
He moved to the desk drawer. He was trying to be careful, doing his action with minimal disturbance. A faint click slowly answered him and there was a secondary layer.
The puppet immediately shifted back into a rat, small enough to avoid triggering the mechanisms that a bigger frame might disturb.
It slipped into the narrow gap and found a folded piece of paper that was tucked into the hidden compartment. Baston read through the dim light.
"I as the mayor of this town did something terrible. At first, I thought as long as I never hurt anyone, it was perfectly safe. That man didn't mention anything and only asked for some people to give a test of the potion he made..."
"I was wary and anxious, but on other hand, it was such a disguised miracle. They didn't have to die and could live as long as they drank the potion. Still, I don't know what happened if someone noticed something strange in this town…"
"The man only ordered people here to help him caught all the criminals that bypassing here. I doubted and hesitated, but since we also did the good by apprehending all the bad guys here, then we all relented to it…"
"As long our lovely person could still live, we would like to make a contract with the man…"
Baston exhaled slowly, "Is this a diary or a confession…?"
The mayor had justified his sin that was disguised as a miracle. The potion was disguised as the miraculous drink and the perpetrator was disguised as the savior.
The man's identity was confusing, but all in all, he was the criminal.
The rat folded the paper back precisely with its tiny hands as it had been and retreated. Nothing was displaced and nothing was disturbed. The first rat soon withdrew.
Meanwhile, the second rat had found the underground chamber.
The air was cooler below. It was damp but it was not filthy. This was not a dungeon built for cruelty.
The cell was small, reinforced, but it was surprisingly clean. Inside, one man paced restlessly and a plate of fresh food rested near him. It was still untouched until now. There were no chains and no visible injuries on the man.
"Is this person the one mentioned in the old book…?" Baston thought.
He considered releasing him but the hesitation tightened his thoughts. If the man truly was a criminal, setting him free might endanger the innocent lives.
The mayor's confession had framed these prisoners as the bad ones for the society.
Was he prepared to unleash something that he did not understand?
He needed more information. The rat melted into a hooded man within the shadowed corner. His footsteps echoed softly and the prisoner looked up sharply.
"What do you want? I already told you everything."
"I think you misunderstand," the hooded figure replied calmly, "I'm not from this town. My employer sent me and he wants you returned in one piece."
The man's eyes widened, "Who?"
"You already know him..."
The silence reverberated before a sudden realization came to the man, "That's it! My boss! He knew
I could still be useful!"
The hooded man smirked faintly but he said nothing. He examined the lock deliberately and he clicked his tongue while shaking his head.
The prisoner stepped closer to the bars, "Can you open it?"
"It's complicated…" the hooded figure replied, "It's strange that someone like you is kept personally here. What did you do? Have you killed someone?"
"No! I only stole! I didn't know that the house belonged to a noble and the punishment soon was escalated! I thought I'd be executed, but instead, they brought me here without any explanation!"
"Only stealing?"
"I swear that my boss ordered it! He said someone owed him and I had to retrieve the goods or lose my wages!"
"What about the others?" the hooded man pressed lightly, "Anyone else kept here?"
"No, it's just me... I'm already here for one week alone."
Baston narrowed his thoughts. The man was alone, but still, the old book had said about the people. It was plural and he believed the quest would not make the mistakes.
He felt it instinctively that the old book did not operate with the typos which meant the prisoner was not the true target or not the only one.
Just to make sure his hunch was correct, he needed to look for more information. The hooded figure then stepped back.
"I'll return later..."
He then went away, dissolving into a rat and vanished. The man shouted faintly behind him but the sound faded into the underground silence.
In the meantime, the third rat had drifted into the upper levels. It did not approach openly. Instead, it crawled along the beams near the attic, watching the unseen. At there, through a narrow gap, Baston saw her.
The mayor's wife who had given him a dried meat before.
She stood near a cabinet with pale and trembling expression. It was not because the illness but because something heavier upon her feelings. There was guilt in her face.
"This can't go on," she whispered hoarsely, "The town will be the sinners forever…"
She reached toward something inside the cabinet, "I have to destroy that statue before my husband returns."
"Madam! You can't!" the maids rushed forward, blocking her.
"It's better than this!" the woman cried, "It's better to die than live like this!"
"Your husband will be mad, madam!"
"I know what he'll do! I know! But this… This isn't life!"
One maid's face hardened with reluctant resolve, "I'm sorry, madam…"
A needle quickly pierced her skin. The woman struggled briefly with rage in her eyes before the sleep overtook her. The maids carried her away gently, locking the door before they sighed.
"Why does she resist every time?" one whispered.
"We gave her the potion, yet she still remembers the fragments of memory…"
"Everyone else is fine and it was only her."
"Her husband made a deal with dark wizard just to save her life. She should be grateful."
"She believes destroying that statue will free people from the prison."
"Don't speak about it! If someone hears you…"
"Relax… Everyone inside this mansion already knows."
Baston felt something cold settle in his spine.
The statue, the drink, the memory fragments, and the living forever. It started from the juice yesterday.
Some people had drunk it and only those who were already dead or dying who needed such miracle. He saw it now. The people in the quest were not behind the bars. They were walking, smiling, breathing, and drinking like anyone else.
The potion preserved the body but something inside had already died. Perhaps, it was their souls or perhaps, it was their humanity.
To set them free would mean breaking whatever sustained them. It meant killing them.
The mayor had struck a deal to preserve his wife's life. The town had cooperated by capturing the criminals as the test subjects. In exchange, they received a miracle.
It could be regarded as immortality even though it was conditional.
Their lives would be always dependent, controlled by the statue. That statue likely was housing the source or the contract.
The mayor's wife, despite drinking the potion, retained the fragments of clarity which was enough to seek the destruction. This also meant the potion was not perfect.
Baston withdrew the rat slowly and his mind churned. The old book had given him a quest that required a heavy decision.
Free them and killing them. Leave them and allowed the false miracle to persist. He thought of the little girl and her bright smile.
Was she among those revived or still untouched?
If he shattered the statue, the town might collapse into the grief.
If he did nothing, they would live forever in the quiet corruption.
The mystery had opened into the conspiracy and such conspiracy had transformed into the morality.
The quest no longer felt like a choice. It felt like a judgment to set the people free. Freedom from the prison or freedom from the false life.
He stood outside the mansion walls as his three rats retreated into the shadows of his sleeves, reforming silently into the formless puppets.
The wind brushed past him and the town looked peaceful under sunlight. The children ran, the people laughed, and the town flourished as usual.
No one appeared undead and no one appeared imprisoned, and yet beneath that calm surface, something unnatural pulsed.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was being manipulated not only by the mayor and not only by the hidden dark wizard, but by the old book itself.
The timing of the quest was too precise. It had become clearer only after he witnessed the drink that was being served.
Only after the wife's strange gaze lingered on him and only after the little girl spoke the words that no child should have understood.
Was the book guiding him toward the justice or pushing him toward the guilt?
The townspeople's laughter had been genuine. The warmth of the food, the scent of baked bread, and the way that the little girl had tugged at his sleeve.
If their souls were damaged, then the illusion was perfect. That was what frightened him most.
A lie wrapped in cruelty was easy to hate and a lie wrapped in happiness was easy to forgive.
If he destroyed the statue, the townspeople would not thank him. They would curse him and they would see a monster who robbed them of miracle. Even if such miracle was twisted, it had given them the time.
That precious time with the loved ones who should have been gone.
The time that was stolen from the nature and the time that was borrowed from something darker.
He closed his eyes briefly. To set them free would be the same as to kill everyone.
This matter was very complicated in his heart.
Would he be a savior for the town or the sinner for the people?