Burned Hands

The city of Canestro is Teraoune’s shining star. Music, lights, performers, and revelry are the ambience of a city that never sleeps. By day, the narrow cobblestone streets are flocked by the bustling metropolis, trying to go about their daily lives as they squeeze past one another and dodge porters taking various goods from trade carts that rumble over the stones. Town criers announced the news of the day whilst children played and wove through the streets between grownups and chattel, who swore at them as they ran past. At night, all those go away, and the Canestro University student body, the city’s beating heart, filters onto the streets. They sing, and dance, and laugh, and embrace in the streets and its alleys, in perpetual celebration and jubilation of being freed from their academic shackles for another night. The districts of Canestro are named after the Saints to whom they are dedicated. St Descadel is the market district; hence it is dedicated to the Saint of Commerce, Trade and the Bounty. Food vendors, bakers, smiths, craftsmen and guildsmen of every variety call it their home. St Dorian’s is the Saint of Learning, Knowledge and Curiosity, and so the University and its ever-lively student body are based there. Saint Ava is the Saint of Safety, Security and Protection, that district is named after the massive Cathedral of the same name that was erected there from the city’s beginnings. St Tullio’s, the Saint of Father’s, Wisdom and The Path was dedicated to the city’s wealthier citizens. There’s never a dull moment, never a time where you cannot spot a smiling face, never a time where you cannot find a place and person to have a good time with. It is the greatest place to be young in all of the Straits.

No dark corners, no privacy, and nowhere to slip away unnoticed. Perhaps in St Ava’s District? The Inquisition hadn’t exactly made her job easy, asking her to find her contact in this stone jungle, all tangled up with potential witnesses. To try and hide away here is asking to stand out. She had to mingle with the crowds. She hated getting up in them, but it might be the only way to get around unnoticed. She supposed there wasn’t much else that could’ve been done; this is how the contact wanted to meet her. The city is divided into quadrants by four streets that meet in the middle at Plaza de Amelie right in the middle. The quadrants were named after the four saints that watch over the city, and have their likenesses carved into marble statues that stand proudly over the people atop their magnificent fountain plinths. Master Inquisitor Jerome told her to find her contact at one of the taverns in St Dorian’s district. The one with the university, the dormitories, and where every pub, theatre, tobacco house and the Bella Henriette dancehall could be found. Every damned student would be there.

The contact was staying in a tavern called “The Chopping Block”. The guard at the southern gate was kind enough to provide her with directions and even offered to ask one of his associates to walk her there. Apparently, it was unsafe for ladies such as herself to be walking alone at night, but that wouldn’t make her job any easier. Besides, it’s not like it’s much safer for a woman to be alone in a public house full of young men either, and she’d rather avoid using her Inquisitor’s medallion as much as possible. It defeated the purpose of being inconspicuous. St Ava’s and St Tullio’s Districts were the southern districts of the city and is where the cathedral and upper-class residencies were respectively. At this time of night, The southern districts tend to be quieter and darker to allow the wealthy residents some some reprieve from the bawdy nightlife. However, they were obviously heavily monitored. St Ava’s Cathedral dominated the district, and so was named after it. It was ten stories tall-the largest cathedral other than Catherdral St Valeria Imperia in the so-named capital of Valeria Capita. The details of it were lost at this time of night, but its imposing silhouette and wide, arching buttresses ensured that no matter what time of day, you were conscious that Nine Saints were watching all the time.

She didn’t need an escort anyhow. These streets were regularly patrolled by guardsmen. It’s a wonder why the guard at the gate even recommended it. Being someone in her line of work she found that to be somewhat suspicious, and she would habitually check over her shoulder. She had two options to get where she needed to go. She could head northward up the South Main Road and then across the East Main Road to St Dorian’s, but even at this hour the main roads are populated, and she would prefer to slink away at a moment’s notice if she needed to. Instead, she opted to take the narrow, winding streets through St Tullio’s district, where the city’s gilded pockets come to hide. Much of the student base is comprised of the noble families’ kindred. The library is open for all to access, but one must produce a letter of recommendation from one of the noble houses, presented with the house’s wax seal. At the very least, it must come with a recommendation from someone of some esteem. If one is to become a regular student there, then an additional tuition fee must be paid. With that, you can get lodging, meals, and the esteemed blue robes of the university, as well as unlimited access to the library and, of course, access to the professors.

When she was a young girl, she would often fantasize about coming here and learning about the sun, moon and stars. The cosmos always fascinated her and felt an intimate connection with the infinite abyss. She didn’t have much else growing up. Her parents worked hard enough as dockworkers to survive. However, they were too interested in getting high off moondust to really worry about what their child was doing, so she found her own ways of staying occupied. Sometimes when there was an issue with Lambarro up North, the smaller vessels would dock at her little town of Duloc, and she used to go and see all the strange, new people from faraway lands, and come up with stories of where they came from and what they were here for. At night, she used to stare up into the sky and give the stars her own names, and their own legends. They were her first friends and she wanted to visit them so, so bad. But time moved on, and she grew older. She grew more and more cynical and spiteful of the world for being born the way she was. Impoverished, hopeless, and with non-existent parents who never cared to raise their daughter properly. Towards the end, she was providing for them, by stealing from the docks, fencing what she found, and doing whatever small “jobs” she could.

Or at least that was until the Teraoune Royal Weaver’s Academy hadn’t approached her. The Academy, as it is more simply known, is located to the North East of Canestro, a few hour’s walk beyond the city walls. It is technically an extension of the University but operates as a wholly separate body. Every year or so they search for young boys and girls who were between twelve and thirteen to see if the Nine Saints have gifted them with the ability to Weave the Veil, and when she was twelve years old, they visited Duloc. She was lucky enough to be plucked from a life of poverty and given an opportunity to really do something with her life. When it came time to sign her papers, she forged her parents’ signatures. She didn’t care whether she got their permission or not. She said her goodbyes, left a small pouch of coins and left. They were too dusted to care, and they never followed up on her.

She hadn’t anticipated that this is where that path would lead, but she wasn’t unhappy. Being a part of the Inquisition was a good fit for her. She neither wanted attention nor an uninteresting life. The city is built atop a hillside that precedes the escarpment to the Corona Mountain Range, and while the ground was levelled to build the main roads through the city, St. Tullios’ was purposefully kept at a slightly higher elevation, though still lower than the peak of the Cathedral. She had to make her way directly north from this point to the other end of the district so that she can get to where the East Main Road bisects the Northern and Southern Districts. While the narrow roads and low lighting made it easy to find shadows to hide in and alleys to slip away into, it also made hiding from incoming patrols more necessary. There was always the chance of being ignored, but if they didn’t, she’d end up having that escort to St Dorian’s anyway, but this time with a little less favour. So, she tried her best to seem like she belonged. She had a good track record of keeping her nose clean and her name out of the records, and she could only maintain that by being meticulous about limiting her interactions to only that which were necessary. She passed three patrols, who thankfully acknowledged her without stopping her. She supposed the finer make of her clothes coloured her for more than a vagrant or a thief.

The streets were wide enough to maybe let four people walk alongside comfortably, but she tried to stick to one side of the street, which meant she could walk underneath balconies and awnings in case anyone was still awake and wistfully staring out the window- a favoured pass-time of the chronically bored. These were not the upper nobility that had great mansions and sweeping estates, but more of a humble bourgeoisie of merchants and shop owners. Much of their business was condensed to operations within this city and surrounding areas up to the Artura Hillscape. These people were not usually notable to the Inquisition unless they could be utilized as informants or as assets. Their business was usually innocuous. They lived in medium-sized houses, limited in lateral size by the surrounding terrain in favour of elevation, most of them being two storeys tall. They are the kind of people to make a fuss out of a strange, cloaked woman walking alone in the streets at night. It was just after dinner time, and while some houses had turned their lights out and had settled down for the night, some residents were still awake and the sounds of life, laughter, conversation and even some domestic squabbles could be heard through the windows. All echoes from a life she left behind.

She was no stranger to these streets, though she didn’t often come to this specific district when they were old enough to be left alone. Often, she and her friends from the Academy would take whatever days they could off, even if they didn’t have permission from their teachers, and spent it roaming St Dorian’s and St Descadel. She had good memories of those times, though it was a shame that she never got to speak with those old buddies anymore. She didn’t exactly miss them, but sometimes she did wonder what happened to them. She supposed some had to stay at the Academy or the University. She began to recognize some of the old dancing tunes, and the folk songs that they would wail into the night as she drew closer to St Dorian’s. The closer she got, the louder the music became. She even felt a slight spring in her step, a levity in her spirits as the carefree naiveté she left behind in this place found its way back into her. She didn’t notice her steps quickening as she saw the exit onto the East Main Road, the colourful lights of St Dorian’s on the other side. She could hear singing, laughing, dancing and music. It was like this every night, and to this day it seems nothing has changed.

Crowded spaces were both a blessing and a curse. They were easy to hide in but easy to get lost in. At this hour, many students were reaching the zenith of their night. The problem with this crowd is that people often wanted to strike up conversations and would call out to random strangers to join them for drinks. Teraounens were gregarious in nature, but this particular town was notorious for friendliness. The students were encouraged to network in their spare time, and this is how they did it. She found herself in a position where remaining unseen was not just difficult, it was downright impossible. Her approach had to change. She let down her hood and folded her cloak over her arm. She was not wearing any Inquisition regalia on her, so she felt comfortable walking without it. Many of the students here were between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, making her amongst the older lot. She wore the expression of being lost and slightly overwhelmed until eventually, a tipsy boy roughly her age stumbled towards her. “Hhhey there, pretty!” He slurred. He was perhaps more than tipsy.

“Oh, hi there! Are you okay?” She said, trying to emulate some youthful chipper.

“I’m ffffine, are you okay?”

“Yes, but I’m just a little lost, I’m looking for The Chopping Block, do you know where that is?”

“Chopping Block? Why d’you wanna go there, its-” He lost balance for a moment and had to catch himself by putting his hand on her shoulder. She suppressed the reflexive urge to break the hold but remained suspicious of both his hands. “-It’s really boring.”

“I need to meet a research partner there. Can you point me to it?”

“Why don’t you join me and my friends, we could help with...whatever. We got girls too!”

“No, thank you, I’ve already started with them. Can you just point me to it?” she repeated as she brushed his hand off his shoulder

“Lemme walk you there.” He tried reaching for her hand, but she pulled away before he could make contact.

“Just point it out, thank you.” She had trained years for years to hide emotions, but a modicum of frustration would be understandable in this context.

“Sheesh, no need to be snappy about it. It’s on the other end. Go that way.” He said, pointing further north. “There’s a sign. You might miss it because no one ever goes there.”

“Thank you.”

“Have fun doing your research.” He waved her away and stumbled back to his study mates. Rude, but at least she knew where she had to go. The Chopping Block was an Inquisition safehouse of sorts. It had regular patrons as well but was mainly used as a meeting place for clandestine work that needed to be done in the area. The former owner had debts to repay, and as Canestro had become a recent point of interest for the Inquisition, they decided it was time for it to be taken under new management. It had a modest re-opening and purposefully keeps a modest patronage of older academics and, of course, the occasional spy. The rest of her walk was uneventful, but she did keep an eye over her shoulder to look out for any other, or even the very same, admirers that may have been tailing her.

The other students, men and women alike greeted her sometimes, and she greeted them back cheerfully, trying to show that she was a part of the festivities, as opposed to being an aberration of it. Strangers in the town were not an uncommon sight for the students. Outsiders would often come through to use the university facilities and would sample the nightlife while they were in town.

She continued to push her way through the thick crowd of youngsters, pushing past and gliding around each other like bees in a hive. The irony of calling them “youngsters” was not lost on her, considering she was just twenty-six, but perhaps it’s because she has been at work longer, or has just the effects of growing up and having to feed yourself. She was not part of a traditional curriculum at the Academy, in fact, her studies had to be kept covert. Her magical ability was present, but not overtly powerful at the time. So, they taught her and her peers basic Weaving and also how to use a blade and stay out of sight. They taught them social engineering skills, persuasion, intimidation and interrogation. They were teaching them how to do this. Hiding their training and true purpose from their friends who weren’t in the program was, in a sense, their first assignment. She started at the Inquisition at eighteen years old and has been doing this job ever since. Many of these folk were still in the prime of their youth. She had her time a little earlier than them. She didn’t miss it, though it was nice to walk through these streets again, the wave-like patterns in the paving stones looked the same as they did eight years ago.

As she continued on her path it became clear to her where The Chopping Block was, because it used to be called The Bull’s Bridle, based on where the drunk student was pointing to. The Bull’s Bridle, even in its heyday was never a place that many young people went to, it was always more of a place for the older crowd. Visiting academics or even more well-off residents who didn’t want to risk the coinpurse vanishing whilst going to one of the dives in St Descadel’s. She had an idea of where it was but she had never actually sat down and had a few drinks there. She continued down the street to a point where the hubbub petered away. If she remembered correctly, it was right where Old Fredereca the stationer was, but now it’s owned by someone else. She realized now that the last time she was in this city was when she took her first steps out of the academy as a young Prospect Inquisitor.

Turning right into the road she needed to be in, and walking a few more paces, a low-lit oil lantern shone a dim light showing her to the only tavern on this road, The Chopping Block. Much like the buildings surrounding it, It was small. Smaller than some of the houses in St Tullio’s, but was three storeys tall to compensate for the lack of space. She checked the surroundings one more time before approaching the entrance and spent a moment gauging the place, listening for any commotion. It was quiet, but not too quiet. There were a few patrons that she could hear conversing openly, and she could hear the clink of glasses as they were being collected. Satisfied that she was not walking into a trap or falling into one when she left, she pushed open the cedar doors and walked into the room.

The bar was at the other end of the room, to the right of which was a staircase that led to the upper floors. It was a surprisingly well-lit space, and the food here had the smell of braised onion and herbs that diffused through the air. Given that this was a more upmarket tavern that catered to the tastes of academics and wealthy visitors this was not unexpected. The clientèle were not numerous, with maybe ten patrons in the room in total. Some in pairs, others alone. They all seemed to be focused on what they were doing, and they didn’t pay much attention to her as she walked through. A young barmaid was walking through and attending to people’s orders as they came in. Given that there was not much traffic-especially for this town and at this hour, she was currently in the process of wiping away the crumbs and cup rings left on the table of a prior patron. She looked up at her and nodded her head in acknowledgement before walking over.

“Welcome to The Chopping Block, madame. May I get you anything?” she asked with a pleasant smile. Just behind that smile were eyes that had scanned her up and down on her approach, and now looked to be searching for something. She was a little too obvious. Though, she was doing a good job for a Prospect.

“No, thank you. Just looking for a place to rest for the moment” She replied, and gave her the gesture code for “friend”. She looked to have acknowledged the code and replied,

“Alright madame, you may sit at any available table. We have seating available upstairs. Speak to Jonas at the bar if you need a bed” She said and gave the gesture code for “safe”. Good. The room was not compromised. This Prospect showed some promise. The barkeep was an interesting topic. He was from Lonjeir, made clear by his pale skin, blond hair, tall and bulky build, and blue eyes. This was made even more clear when he began to speak.

“Welcome to Chopping Block. How can I help?” His Teran was fluent, if not a bit sloppy. He spoke with a clear but not too strong accent which gave away his heritage.

“A Lonjeiran all the way out here?” she replied.

“It would appear.” he said, paying her no mind.

“How did that end up happening?”

“Long story. Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, actually. Do you have a Demadarra 158?” He changed his demeanour and started to pay more attention. He has had practice hiding his emotions, but there was an element of nervousness that sparked, a slight discomfort that comes with being caught off guard. But he did produce a bottle of unlabelled wine in a green bottle and poured it out for her. This man is most definitely an “asset”. His job was simply to keep the bar open and help any Inquisitors who came through. If he did provide any good leads, then maybe he got a pay bump. He was likely a prisoner before his appointment here and was given a new lease on life if he worked for the Court, thus his role was not great. Technically speaking, the Prospect barmaid taking orders was his handler. Assets were cheap, easy to train, and expendable.

“Thanks, Jonas. Your name is Jonas? That’s what the barmaid told me.”

“Yes.” He replied. It was clear to her that he was not confident with his Teran and was a bit nervous now that an Inquisitor was in the room, so he kept his phrases short and to the point.

“My friends from out of town say there’s a warm wind coming from the North. Is that true?” she asked in Lonspaak.

“Yes, actually. Very strange weather,” he answered the phrase, with an element of surprise that she had asked in his native tongue.

“Is that going to be bad for business?”

“I’m not too sure. It doesn’t seem likely.” He paused, “Your Lonspraak is very good, your accent is almost native. Almost.” He jibed.

“A little language goes a long way,” she replied.

At this moment, the barmaid approached the counter and said, “Jonas, need another cup of Barony 202 for Professor Benare.” She said when she reached the counter. She looked to be twenty, so this was likely her final post before evaluation. Prospects often occupy these low-demand deep-cover positions for a while before rotating to another post or promotion to Inquisitor. They learn some of the more discreet skills necessary for the line of duty while they’re here. Now and then they send a High Inquisitor or, if they’re especially unlucky, a Master Inquisitor to examine their performance without them knowing. “What’s your name, my girl?” she asked her.

“Mabella, madame. And what may I call you?” She said cheerfully. She felt that if she pressured her hard enough, she would lean too far into the happy-young-girl charade she was putting up but didn’t ultimately want to ruin her day, the poor thing.

“‘Madame’ is fine, thank you. I won’t stay for long. No need to remember my name.” She replied.

She was a thin, mousey girl with not much physique, though that can be trained. Probably stronger with her Weaving than she was with her weapons. She reminded her of a friend from her Academy days.

While Jonas filled another mug of wine for the good Professor, he seemed a bit calmer while his hands were occupied. He returned with the customer’s mug of wine, and Mabella went off to complete the order. “Barkeep,” she began in Teran, “Is there an available bed for the night?”

“Yes, there is.” He said and went off to fetch a key.

“Third floor. First door on the left.” She accepted the iron key and left a silver coin on the counter, “Will this be okay for the night?” she asked.

“Should do.” he said, “Ask if you need assistance.” He grumbled. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and she climbed the stairs. The building’s second floor had more seating to make up for the small footprint of the ground floor, but she had a hard time believing it ever got busy enough to necessitate it. As she climbed the stairs, she remembered the details of her contact and went over the details of her current objective that she discussed with Master Jerome. As she reached the final landing, she heard voices coming from one of the rooms. She listened closer, it was the second door on the right, so not where her contact was. Muffled voices from beyond the wooden door, with some grunting and cursing. She couldn’t hear much, but it seemed to be a male and a female. “Are you sure?” she heard the male ask.

“Quiet!” Another voice hissed, “If this gets out, we’re done. Just, let’s finish what we started. Or are you having cold feet?” said the female

“No! No, it’s just- I don’t know how long I can keep the act up.”

“Then don’t think about it, and do exactly what I tell you... Now, I’m going to get on my knees and-” She decided that she was no longer concerned about a potential threat in the other room and knocked on the first door on her left. Why must people be so loud when they do their business? And weren’t they supposed to be discreet about it? Eventually, a voice came from the other side of the door.

“Who is it?” Asked a voice with a Dharhaani accent.

“Ignacia.” She replied. There was a short pause before she could hear muffled footsteps approach the door and the clanking of keys from the other side. Sure enough, a Dharhaani man opened the door a crack and checked her before opening the door fully. “Good to see you’re finally here.” He said in Teran. She still hadn’t walked through the door.

“Oh well, you’re quite fluent.” She replied. The man in question matched the description. He was slightly shorter than her, making him the right height. The athletic build makes sense. Short black hair, signature scar on the cheek, everything was checking out, “Why don’t you tell me something else?”

“Ah, yes. A gull flies from the east flies west, what does he find?”

“Wine, wenches, and war.” She answered as she walked through the door. She found the choice of phrase to be a typical, if not annoying one. It’s used in Dharhaani politics to demean Teraoune’s leadership. It’s possible he doesn’t know that she’s aware of this. He had the sense to let her close the door behind herself. She did it the way she was taught, without facing her back to him.

“You Inquisition people are always so paranoid about these things.”

“If I remember correctly, it was your people who requested all the formality. We were happy with less.”

“Yes, but you followed it to a tee.” He said, “Don’t you have any independence?”

“More than you’d like to know.” She replied grimly. This made him chuckle.

“Inquisitors, always so professional. So uptight.”

“Let’s discuss business, delivery boy.” She replied

“I agree totally.” He replied. The Mathemerra Couriers are the closest the Dharhaani have to an intelligence service, though like other services in Dharhaan, they are technically a private collective that charge for their services and are open to anyone. Similar to the Inquisitors, they are sometimes trained in some basic Weaving and are handy with a blade and keeping a low profile. Unlike Inquisitors, they’re information brokers, smugglers and thieves, not spies. Wetwork and anything that is needed to get your hands dirty are usually passed off to the Fangs of Ahngra, assassins for hire. They don’t usually conduct espionage operations to this degree. Which makes it interesting that they’ve decided to take a risk like this.

“I assume you’ve been briefed on the basics already, but let’s go over it one more time. Our organization has reason to believe that the Royal Academy and the Academy of the Golden Sun are doing research into something that we are not privy to, so the Magia Regulatum has requested that we investigate.” He began, as he walked over to a desk located on the other wall. He kept a dagger horizontally attached to his belt on the back. To the left was a single bed, with starched and pressed linen sheets, and a scimitar right on top. A simple, but well-appointed room to reflect the middle-class sensibilities of the clientèle.

“I know all that already. What I’ve been trying to figure out is why I shouldn’t apprehend you for questioning, with the knowledge you’re trying to steal something from our Academy,” she replied.

“Because we have it on good authority that this information is something that has been...kept secret from the Magia Regulatum. In short, they’re hiding it from you too.” He explained. The Magia Regulatum was a committee that was formed to calculate the effect of, and eventually, regulate the advancement of magic and the art of Weaving following the Northstar Incident during the Veil Conflict.

“And apparently, you have proof of that.” She replied.

“Take a look.” He said, “I do not expect you to go through it overnight, but these are ledgers and manifestos that we pulled from caravans moving in and out of Lonjeir. We’ve had Couriers working in there for a few years moving documentation from Lonjeir and artefacts specifically from the Exclusion Zone for both the Royal Academy and the Golden Sun. This is nothing new for you.” He explained as she began to look over the documentation for herself. As he stated, they were trade manifestos and ledgers of items arriving in and out of Canestro from over the border, just a week’s ride to the northwest through the mountain range.

“What are these trying to show me?” she asked

“Well, we wouldn’t be very good at our job if we didn’t observe the movements of other freight and courier services. We are the best at what we do, but sometimes even the highest of nobility won’t pay for our premium services. Anyway, our people in Weldemaar tell us that they’ve been seeing a higher-than-normal amount of caravan guards going in and out of the city. Specifically, that of barrels carrying smoked salmon.”

“Not exactly hot cargo. Go on.” She replied

“Exactly. Smoked salmon has been coming into and out of Canestro in high volumes. Curiously high. The numbers don’t add up. According to what local anglers are saying, a barrel of salmon should be fifty kilograms. According to customs reports as of six months ago, three out of every ten barrels are weighing in at just over half that. There’s been no shortage of salmon to corroborate, and border customs authorities state that the barrels have been filled to the top. So, it stands to reason...”

“That they might be hiding contraband in the barrels.” She surmised, still looking at the paperwork. Everything that he was saying was lining up according to the provided documentation, and she didn’t see any overt signs of forgery, not that she believed The Couriers to be so sloppy.

“Hmm. These documents and the audits are quite dubious. Are you aware of the findings of the Regulatum’s audits?”

“We haven’t heard anything about any audits. Do share.”

“Apparently they weren’t able to find any evidence of any unapproved research or materials.” She replied, “The Regulatum has been looking into this for some time. Their auditors have been picking out details here and there that suggest something greater. The new staff is being taken on, without anyone leaving. Requests to use rare and exotic materials, money that seems to disappear, and research papers that don’t come to anything. Our birds in the branches are saying there’s been strange cargo moving into the Academy that nobody is taking stock of.”

“Don’t many of your people come from the Academy?” He asked with suspicion.

“Not since my time, Inquisition recruitment is a different process nowadays.” She said without looking at him, still pretending to examine the ledgers. “Noted.” she thought to herself. She put the papers down and leaned against the desktop, now facing him directly.”

“So, if my understanding is correct, we are to use the Academy’s Centenary Jubilee to find any evidence?”

“Must we? I understand that this is what our organizations discussed, but couldn’t we do it when there’s less commotion?”

“We could, but the Academy never rests. There are students, professors, and other staff that are milling about at all hours of the day. At least at the ceremony, most of the attention will be on the dining hall, and most of the offices and staff domiciles will be empty. You would have one hell of a time sneaking around there without anyone noticing and asking questions. Particularly you.”

“My kind aren’t trusted, I presume?” he said bitterly

“As a known associate, perhaps. As a stranger? Not particularly. They’d take you for a spy, and they’d be right too. If I were to request entry into the premises as an Inquisitor, they would do everything in their power to hide anything they don’t want to be seen.” She produced a closed envelope from the leather satchel she was carrying. “Lucky for me then, that the Academy has been calling for old alumni to attend The Centenary Jubilee. I will be going in as myself.”

“And where am I in this plan?”

“Well, you tell me, I’m not sure what your skillset is. Once I’m in the soiree, it will be difficult for me to slip away unnoticed. Access to the rest of the academy and the grounds will likely be limited, and I will probably struggle to get around the guards.”

“Well, I’m a Courier. I sneak around, and I steal things. I’m a pretty good safe cracker if it comes to that.

“Yes, that’s the problem. We have no fucking idea what we’re even looking for. Probably documentation. I’m going to be limited on what I can bring in, maybe a few lockpicks and some small tools, but that’s about it. Maybe you can bring in some more substantial equipment and have it ready to go. Any ideas on how to get in?”

“Like you said, I would stick out. Plus, many of them may recognize me, the Academy uses our services all the time, and I’ve done work for many of the professors there.”

“Does that give you credibility?”

“Not without an invitation.”

“Then you will need to infiltrate the outer perimeter on your own. I can find a way to let you in from the inside if you need, once I get more intelligence about what exactly it is we are stealing and where it might be. From there, I can assist you.”

“No weapons?”

“You can carry a knife, but you cannot use it on anyone under any circumstances.”

“And what if I get spotted out there, how am I to defend myself? Am I supposed to just disappear?!”

“Absolutely no casualties. If there’s any trace of this collusion, I will have to put you down myself. Is that understood?” she snapped.

“Yes ma’am.” He said sardonically.

“This isn’t a simple breaking and entering, Courier! There’s a lot at stake, a fuck up here could end this whole investigation, think of the bigger picture! We’re only getting started on finding out what’s going on! If you aren’t ready for that kind of heat, I suggest you back out now.” “I can’t believe Jerome and the Regulatum are making me work with this. Or, perhaps they sent me for this reason…Is this the best the Mathamerra Couriers have?” She thought. She took a deep breath, and continued, “Listen. The situation is delicate. We have seven days until the event. We will plan our every step, together. We will gather information. We will find out our plan of action, and how we’re going to get you out of there. If either one of us gets compromised, we’ll plan for that too. I’ll get you whatever you need on the inside.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” He scowled

“Take this seriously, and I see no reason why we can’t be friends and collaborators. If you want to make any changes to the plan, then I will hear them out. I apologize if I offended you.”

“That’ll be fine. Apology accepted.” He said, the smile returned to his face, though with a little less smugness than there was before.

“Very good. Now if you would excuse me, I am very tired. Valeria Capita is many weeks of travel away and I was told to be here well before the Jubilee. Is there anything else you want to share?”

“No, I think that’s all for now. We can discuss what we need to do in the morning.”

“That’s fine with me. Sleep well.”.

“Sure, you too.”

“Oh, what should I call you?”

“Just ‘H’ is fine. Ignacia?”

“Yes, for now.” she said, and left the room. This “H” person, as he liked to call himself, was a little younger than her. If the Couriers trust him to do this job, then she has to trust he has the ability it requires. He should have his time to have fun now. This job is probably going to set him straight.

She walked back down the stairs to the ground floor. She pulled up a stool and sat at the counter. The lovers upstairs seemed to have concluded their evening, and the tavern was empty. It was quiet before, but now there was a true silence. The party outside was for sure still going on, but they were far enough away that it wasn’t very audible. Mabella was sweeping up for the night, getting ready to go home to wherever the Inquisition set her up. Jonas was behind the counter, wiping down the freshly cleaned dishes for the night.

“Jonas,” she said in Lonspraak, “You wouldn’t mind pouring a mug of wine for me? Real stuff this time, not whatever bottom-of-the-barrel shit that was.”

“Not at all.” He said and poured a dark red merlot, and handed it over to her.

“Thanks. Your shift up?”

“’Bout to be. One of your people will take over the graveyard shift.”

“Ah. How’re they treating you?”

“Um...” It was clear to her that he didn’t know how to answer this question. She took a deep sip of the wine. Dark, deep, and smoky. Interesting choice.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to get you in trouble. It wouldn’t be useful to do that,” she reassured. He leaned in on the counter a little closer and spoke a bit quieter, keeping one eye on Mabella.

“They’re okay. They’re rude, arrogant. Push me around. Think they’re above me. But that comes with the territory, I suppose. It could be worse.”

“I ’spose so.” She replied. “Just remember, I am their boss.” She smiled and gave him a trusting wink. He looked down at the counter and smiled.

“Thanks. You seem like a decent sort.”

“I’ve been in the game. They’re trying to prove themselves, to themselves. Now they’ll be proving themselves to me. So, I apologize on their behalves.” That finally made him chuckle.

“What’s your read on our guest?” He asked her.

“The ones loudly fucking or the other one?”

“The other one.” He said, shaking his head, the smile broadening.

“Not sure. He seems hot-headed, but he’s not stupid. Knows what he’s talking about. I haven’t seen him work, but what can I say, the job came up on short notice. Guess we’ll find out on the way. What about you?”

“I used to be in a similar line of work before, well, you know. The way he walks and talks tells me he’s legit. ’Course I never worked with a Courier. The only thing I know about the Dharhaani people is that they put spices in everything. Mabella says brought his own.”

“Really?” She replied in Teran, turning to Mabella as she did.

“I just caught a glimpse of it in his satchel, madame.” Replied Mabella, and she continued sweeping.

“Ha! I knew they always thought their cuisine superior, but I thought we had some rapport in that regard! Bringing his own spices, that’s really something!” She chuckled quietly and took another swig of wine.

“We think we should get some spiced wine, just to make him feel more at home.” Continued Jonas in Lonspraak. She paused mid-sip.

“You don’t think we’re trying too hard? We’ve only just started our relationship. We wouldn’t want to offend his sensibilities.”

“It would be a nice gesture to celebrate the Jubilee. I mean, it couldn’t hurt.” He said.

She thought about it for a moment and said, “Alright. We’ll have some fun with it. Go ahead, you have my permission. I’ll leave the final decision up to you two, though.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Said Mabella, smiling.

“Come here for a moment, wouldn’t you dear?” She stopped sweeping immediately and quickly walked over to her.

“Yes ma’am?”

“You going out for the night?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Mind if I ask you a few things before you go?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You look nervous. Have a seat!” She said, pulling up a stool. She was trying to find the source of the nervousness in the girl. It was familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place it. She was always looking down, almost like she was being scolded, but she didn’t seem afraid.

“Yes, ma’am.” She said and pulled up a seat. She sat on the stool stiffly, she was facing her but still looking away. She wasn’t exactly avoiding eye contact, but she was hesitant to maintain it. She wasn’t behaving like this a few moments before.

“Jonas, give her a little buzz, please? Not too much, I want her to get home safely.”

“Ma’am? Are you sure? I’m still on the clock-” she stammered

“Take it easy, this isn’t a performance report.” she replied. Jonas produced a bottle of what looked like a bright ale “This from your side of the world, Jonas?”

“Yeah. Strong ale. Ought to loosen her up a bit.” said Jonas, winking at her.

“Thank you kindly.” she said to him. Returning to Mabella, she continued, “So, Mabella. Anything interesting to report tonight?”

“Nothing you haven’t already been made aware of ma’am she said.” Nervously taking a gulp of beer. “What is going on with this girl?” She thought. She was trying to maintain a cool posture, as befits her station, but there was something off.

“What about the lovebirds?” She asked, now getting to the bottom of her wine.

“Oh, them? They’re uh, lovers. Like you said. Not particularly interesting, they come in, do some research together, and then they go upstairs and create noise complaints. Jonas, we need to tell them the cool it off, the other customers who board are getting upset.”

“Yeah, I told ’em. I’ll give ’em another warning.”

“Just lovers? People don’t usually need to be sneaking around for that.” She replied, “Tell me the gossip, Mabella. I’m dying for a bit of local intrigue, it’s been a week.” she asked playfully.

“Oh! Well...” Mabella leaned in closer, and the Inquisitor leaned in to receive her message, “She’s Professor Viola Barbosa from the University. She’s got an appetite for younger men. The boy is one of her students, his name is Miguel Terfossa. His dad’s a member of the Arboreal Guild.”

“Oh my, oh my! How do her colleagues not know?” She replied.

“They do, but that’s what they all come here to do. Fuck their students. What’s worse is that she’s married to Stefan Barbosa, who’s also in the guild! If he finds out the whole thing can collapse!”

“You didn’t think that would be interesting?”

“I- uh, no I didn’t initially, but now that you say it, or now that I said it out loud, I do.” She stumbled on her words a bit and took another heavy swig

“You know how to work that right?”

“Yeah, yeah I do. I’m pretty sure.”

“Good. Keep every bit of intrigue, no matter how trivial. You never know when you’re going to need that. You keep a log of who comes in and out?”

“I do, yes.”

“Good work.” She said, and patted her on the back. “Finish that up and go home. I kept you here long enough.” She looked at Jonas and touched the tip of her nose. He was he supressed a grin. She reached the end of her drink and stood up to leave. “Alright, that’s it for me. Keep your eyes open.” She gave a long stretch and proceeded to head to the second floor.

“Goodnight, ma’am.” They said as she climbed the stairs.

The second-floor seating area was L-Shaped. The length of the L was where all the seating was, and the short side led to a small passage, on the left-hand side of the end of that passage was a door that lead outside, for those that wanted some peace and fresh air on the roof. The end of the hall had a wonderful relief of carved rosewood depicting St Valeria, standing triumphantly on Mont Zeifra, the proud nine-starred flag of Teraoune in her left hand, and the head of General Khul, famed and legendary tyrant who came from the far south Andekhar Dominion and sought to destroy and enslave the ancestors of Teraa, the first kingdom, his twisted and angry face bearing a look of anguish at the moment of his slaying. His body was nowhere to be seen on the piece. She turned the head one-third clockwise and heard a click. She turned the head two-thirds anticlockwise and heard a second click. She reached to the far-right side of the painting, on the bottom corner, and found a switch to pull down. A portion of the right-hand wall came away from its frame, It was noticeably thinner than the other walls. She slowly applied pressure onto the hinge. The Inquisitor’s hideout. Every safehouse had one. For the moment, it was dark. At a wave of her hand, all the torches on the walls came to life.