The morning sun had turned the Southgate dirt road into an unbearable oven, but Arthur Pendelton felt only cold, calculating fury. He stood beside the makeshift examination slab where the butchered body of young Julian Vance lay, the silk tunic stained dark with his own blood.
The silence that had followed the old servant woman's hysterical identification was finally broken by another voice a sound of raw, unadulterated heartbreak.
An elderly man pushed his way through the stunned crowd. He was dressed in simple, faded cotton trousers and a worn blue tunic. His face was weathered and deeply lined, and his eyes were wide with a terror that no parent should ever have to endure.
"Let me see!" the old man cried out, his voice cracking. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees beside the wooden slab. He stared at the ruined face of the aristocratic youth, and then, slowly, he reached out a trembling, calloused hand to touch the boy's dark hair.
"Julian?" the old man whispered, the word tearing from his throat. "Julian, my boy... my beautiful, bright boy."
Arthur knelt beside the old man, his heart aching. The pieces of the puzzle were shifting again. "Grandfather," Arthur said gently, placing a hand on the man's shaking shoulder. "The servant woman identified this boy as Julian Vance, the nephew of Zachary Vance. Are you his father?"
The old man looked up, his eyes swimming in tears, his face a mask of absolute confusion and profound grief. "Vance? No! No, My Lord! I am Thomas Fletcher! This... this is my son! This is James!"
The crowd gasped. Arthur frowned, his sharp mind immediately catching the terrifying contradiction. He looked at the weeping servant woman, who had retreated slightly, her face pale.
"Madam," Arthur commanded, his voice firm. "Look again. Are you absolutely certain this is Julian Vance?"
The servant woman wrung her hands, terrified of the Magistrate and terrified of her master. "He... he is wearing the young master's clothes, My Lord! That blue silk tunic, those leather boots... they belong to Julian! I washed them myself just yesterday! But his face... it is so beaten, so covered in blood... I... I cannot be certain."
Arthur stood up, the horrific reality of the Viper's cruelty finally coming into full, sickening focus.
"Doctor Aris," Arthur ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "Clean the victim's face entirely. Wash away the blood."
The doctor quickly complied, using a sponge and clean water to wipe away the grime and gore. As the features became clear, the truth was undeniable. It was a handsome face, but it lacked the soft, pampered features of an aristocrat. There were callouses on the hands, despite the fine clothing.
Old Thomas Fletcher let out a soul-crushing wail, burying his face in his son's blood-stained silk chest. "James! My James! Why? Why did they do this to you?!"
Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment, the sheer malice of the crime threatening to overwhelm his famous composure. Zachary Vance had kidnapped Fiona Fletcher. When her brother James had gone to the estate to demand her back, Vance hadn't just beaten him.
"The Viper didn't murder his own nephew," Arthur announced to the silent, horrified crowd. "He murdered James Fletcher. And to hide his crime, he dressed the poor boy in his nephew's expensive clothes, paid a corrupt deputy and a drunken grave robber to swap the body with our mule driver, and dumped him here. He intended for us to find a dead 'aristocrat', launch a massive, confused investigation, and while we chased our tails, he would dispose of the real evidence."
Arthur turned to Thomas Fletcher, his voice filled with a solemn, unbreakable vow. "Thomas. Take your son home. Prepare him for a proper burial. I swear to you upon the seal of my office, the man who did this will face the hangman's noose. And I will find your daughter."
Arthur ordered the local constables to secure the perimeter and commanded Captain Carter to lock Deputy Will in the back of the prisoner transport carriage. The Magistrate did not linger in Southgate. The trap had to be set in Oakendell, where the Viper's political connections could not immediately save him.
Upon returning to the Oakendell Courthouse, Arthur did not rest. He summoned his two most trusted head constables, Detective Miller and Detective Hayes.
"Detectives," Arthur said, pacing his study. "Zachary Vance believes his deception has worked. He believes he is untouchable. If we ride to his estate with an army, he will barricade himself behind his private guards and send ravens to his uncle in the capital. We need to lure him out. We need him to walk into our territory willingly."
"How do we do that, Magistrate?" Miller asked, his thick mustache twitching with anticipation. "The man is arrogant, but he isn't stupid."
"We use his arrogance against him," Arthur replied, a cold smile touching his lips. "But we need bait. And we need a man who understands the criminal mind better than we do."
Arthur turned to Hayes. "Ride to the northern hills. Go to the estate of Liam Thorne. Tell the White Stallion that Arthur Pendelton calls upon the debt he owes. I need his counsel."
It took several hours, but by late afternoon, the heavy oak doors of Arthur's study opened, and the towering figure of Liam Thorne stepped inside. He wore a simple gray traveling coat and leaned on his silver-tipped cane, his presence immediately filling the room.
"Magistrate Pendelton," Liam greeted, offering a respectful bow. "You called, and I have answered. My brother is recovering under strict guard. What requires my attention?"
Arthur poured two cups of hot tea, sliding one across the desk to the vigilante. "I am hunting a snake, Liam. Zachary Vance. The Viper of Southgate."
Liam's expression darkened. He took a seat across from Arthur. "Vance is a different breed of monster than my brother. Bartholomew was a brute who used his fists. Vance is a politician who uses poison. He has his uncle, Lord Vance, protecting him from the capital. If you strike him without absolute, undeniable proof, his lawyers will have you stripped of your robes and exiled before the week is out."