I was drinking skooma and reading “Thief" by Riven in the front seat of my privately owned Thalmor carriage when a call came in. I put a golden septim in the resonance sphere to activate it. It was the chief. “Bad news, detective. We got a situation.” “What? Is the Jarl trying to ban axes again?” “Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven million septims’ worth of soul gems.” The skooma bottle practically fell out of my arm. “What kind of monster would do something like that? Soul gems are the ultimate currency: arcane, anonymous, stateless. They represent true economic freedom, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any government. Do we have any leads?” “Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided someone pays us a fair market rate to do so.” “Easy, chief,” I said. “Any rate the market offers is, by definition, fair.” He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Li’owes. Now you get out there and find those soul gems.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.” I put a septim in the dwemer-construct horse. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal fortification building, strangled on all sides by public sidewalks. I hopped over them and went inside. “Thalmor™ Presents the Police!®” I said, flashing my badge and my dagger and a small picture of Auriel. “Nobody move unless you want to!” They didn’t. “Now, which one of you mudcrabs is going to pay me to investigate this crime?” No one spoke up. “Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of private property is the foundation of all personal liberty?” It didn’t seem like they did. “Seriously, guys. Without a strong economic motivator, I’m just going to stand here and not solve this case. Cash is fine, but I prefer being paid in Stormcloak scrip or autographed Saint Jiub posters.” Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in soul-prison money invented to buy drugs was missing. I figured I could wait them out. I lit several moonsugar pipes indoors. A pregnant lady coughed, and I told her that secondhand smoke is a myth. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it. “Riverwood Trader™ Also Try The Markath Butcher and Freeze, Scumbag!®” I yelled. Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him. “Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on public sidewalks. Our dominion needs a private-sidewalk voucher system, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between our corrupt arcane council and the public-sidewalk lobby, it will never happen. I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll pay you to stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate price point for stopping? I’ll offer you a thirteenth of an ounce of gold and a gently worn ‘I survived Alduin and all I got was this T-shirt’ extra-large long-sleeved men’s T-shirt!” He turned. In his hand was a crossbow that the Aldmer high council said he had every right to own. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my magical staff, put a septim in it, and fired back. The lighting bolt struck an imperial courier less than a foot from his head. I shot the courier again, on purpose. “All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, elf! I confess: I took the soul gems.” “Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of East Empire Company™ Ash Yam Presents Handcuffs® on the guy. “Because I was afraid.” “Afraid?” “Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of Talos worshippers,” he said. “I’m a Talos worshipper.” I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a Talos worshipper killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head. “Let this be a message to all your Talos worshipper friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many soul gems you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of an open society based on the principles of the White-Gold concordant.” He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then he opened his gold pouch to pay me for arresting him.
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