Das whirls back to Aloisturm, blood rushing to his face as he snarls "My son is asleep... he's been dead these past five years!" He rubs his face roughly, looking oddly relieved. "But... you can hear it too. I thought the drink was finally driving me mad, I did. Let me tell you a story... a short one, as you have as little patience as I.
Five years ago, there was a murdering bastard named Jervas Stoot. He was a wood carver, people liked his work well enough, they did. Seemed a nice fellow, but during the late unpleasantness... he went mad. We called him the Chopper, because he turned his victims into chopped offal." Das wrings his hands, eyes tearing. "One... one of those he killed was my wife... my beautiful Madellin. She was walking home with our son, Simon. We found my wife well enough.. most of her... but not my son. I begged and pleaded for help, I searched high and low, but never found him."
"During that time, Old Sheriff Avertin found Stoot, carving up Tellerson. They fought, and Avertin lost, but not without stabbing that bastard Stoot good and proper. Hemlock and the guards, they followed the trail of blood back to Stoot's house, over on the island in the bay. They found his body in front of some depraved alter under his house where he'd carved out his own tongue and eyes to go with those of all those he killed. They collapsed the cellar and burned the house, burned his corpse and blessed and scattered his ashes to keep him from returning and called it enough.
But no one ever found my boy. So that's what I'm asking you, clockwork. You and that lot with you seem handy enough. I want you to look in Stoot's house and the tunnels under it. Find Simon or something of his, that I can bury him proper or remember him by."