Helene Fabry, full Quadrimage, recently past her twenty-first birthday, allowed a smile to touch the corner of her lips. The hood of her cloak was pushed back, as the early morning winds of Autumn blew from Kethyras Harbor through the city streets. The air was still gentle (not that she was unable to control it if she chose), and had not yet turned cold, wet and miserable. Her shining silver hair, somehow transformed from its original light blonde by her Awakening as a Mage, hung in loose curls to her shoulders. As was customary for most Mages, she wore long-sleeved tops or blouses with her legs likewise covered and never visible except to herself when she changed or bathed. The intricate and multi-layered disfiguring patterns of tattoos and marking brands used by the Desmofilakoi at The Hub to Bind Powers were uncomfortable to view and served, for her, as far too much a reminder of the excruciating experience.
By anyone else’s estimation, she was stunningly beautiful. The fact she was almost a head shorter than most other human adults made her appear lithe and wisp-like, adding to her beauty. In her own eyes, she never saw anything other than the little girl she’d been when she was taken for Mage training and horribly disfigured in the process. Every element of her personal history combined to make her feel very much apart from others around her. When her powers as a once-in-generations Quadrimage made her even more distinct, she had a sense of isolation that was insurmountable, no matter that it was largely self-imposed.
She thought back to the day of her arrival in the city, just under three years ago — recently “graduated” from what all had acknowledged as one of the harshest and most demanding training regimes The Hub had inflicted upon any freshly-Awakened Mage in generations. The severity of it, as applied to her, was, again, due to her having the full collection of elemental affinities. After finally departing from The Hub, she had attempted to return home to her family — her first opportunity to see them since she’d been dragged to The Hub at eleven years old to instill the control she required over her otherwise untamed and unchecked Powers. That reunion was short-lived for … reasons she did her best not to dwell on. After that, she’d come here, to Kethyras, The City of the Ascendant Moons, a month afterwards.
Since she’d entered the city with the intention of remaining here, even before securing a place to stay temporarily, she went directly to the Mage Sanctuary to present herself. A staple location in every decently sized village or larger, the network of Sanctuaries was a method of providing aid and assistance to traveling Mages, as well as being a common dispenser of work requests which might require some sort of Mage presence — in exchange for coins, of course.
At the Sanctuary, she returned her horse — it had been provided to her by the stables at The Hub upon graduation — and requested a room in the Sanctuary itself for at least several days and nights. Since Helene had not known she would be coming to Kethyras until after she’d attempted to return to her family, no advance notice had been given to this Sanctuary, but all Sanctuaries were aware of her. There was never any outright sign of favoritism nor persecution shown, but there was always a certain slight air of deference to her. The simple fact of her multitude of affinities meant she was more capable than all but the most experienced Mages. To the devious mind of the Kethyras Sanctuary Keeper, her continued presence in “his” city would be a powerful draw and could only serve to attract useful attention — either from other Mages or from the wealthy who might call upon the Sanctuary for aid and pay well for the service.
Her first two or three days were spent learning about the city and the various major districts within it. A Sanctuary Attendant was happy to show her around and tell her all that he knew. Overall, the city was in a shallow and gentle valley running southwest to northeast, leading down to the harbor and docks. The southern slope was divided between Clearcross Terrace — with the Sanctuary just to the southwest of its center — and Photeinon Crest much higher up and overlooking it all. Needless to say, the Crest was reserved solely for the obscenely wealthy and worldly-powerful. While an occasional minor noble might have a residence there, it was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with all sorts of petty and bickering aristocrats desperate to flaunt their wealth and somehow shine brighter than their peers.
The northeast portion of the city, immediately adjacent to Kethyras Bay was fully devoted to deep-water travel and trade and represented the largest portion of the “true” lifeblood of the city. That area was simply known as “The Docks” and was filled with warehousing, shit outfitting, and all related businesses. Just inland from the Docks was Gateway Plaza, containing the first, and only ”official”, market square. As the city grew and expanded, many others developed to suit the local needs existed, and the Gateway square had shifted to clothing and trinkets and other such stores which wouldn’t be serving the same people every single day.The rest of Gateway Plaza was devoted to trading houses and other trading businesses — those legitimate and also those less so.
Stuck in the middle of all this was a large internal city park, Middlecross Grove — surrounded by Clearcross on two sides, the Docks on a third and then closed off by Gateway. On Spring and Summer days, any hour when the sun was up, Middlecross was typically filled with happy couples taking a relaxing stroll, and rampaging children — all enjoying the largest area of the city which was home to fresh air. The Grove wasn’t necessarily “dangerous” at night, but, as Helene was told, it did tend to be home to many less than savory meetings and transactions in the absence of light — and the City Watch couldn’t be bothered to patrol here in the dark.
The northwest slope of the valley holding Kethyras contained Overlook Terrace. The Attendant explained how the naming felt incorrect as it certainly stood no higher than Clearcross. This area was generally home to the rest of the middle-class population as well as those … aspiring towards moving up. At the “bottom” of the valley rested Claymarket. When they very briefly walked through “Mud Market”, as it was known locally, the Attendant warned her, even as a Mage, venturing there at night was exceedingly dangerous, especially when both moons were at their weakest or hidden by weather. After all, as a valley, everything in Kethyras flowed downhill and the worst of it came to Mud Market … and, one way or other, almost never came out again.
Having learned of the city, Helene found herself utterly fascinated. She’d never encountered anything like this place before and this brief tour reaffirmed her desire to make it her home. She was still uncomfortable being, well, anywhere, but she resolved to attempt to learn to be comfortable here. As a sort of graduation “present” from The Hub, to go along with the horse. she had been provided with a generous pouch, but she knew she would need something which more closely resembled a regular and steadier income.
Possibly surprisingly, Mages had few sources of income available to them — at least legitimate sources — and pursuing the illegitimate ones was almost always guaranteed to give rise to calls for several other Mages to take action to prevent harm to the reputation of all. The choices were typically limited to being hired by individual nobles or aristocrats, either for an ongoing position or on some sort of contractual basis based on an individual Mage’s affinities. Very occasionally, a Mage might offer their services to join a town or city Watch as a steady career. This was rare and only occurred if a Mage felt some sort of special attachment to a particular location — perhaps the town of their birth, for example.
Aside from non-Mage work, the only other regular option was to provide Mage services to any who requested such through the Sanctuary. It wasn’t quite a “job board”, but only because all such requests required approval from the Sanctuary Keepers and each Keeper individually assessed the amount demanded for the requested service. The Sanctuaries themselves kept twenty percent of the fees in these cases, giving the remaining amount to the Mage or Mages carrying out the tasks.
In addition to these payments, all Sanctuaries received regular ongoing “donations” from the aristocracy and nobility. All funds not used for the maintenance and upkeep of the Sanctuary would be sent on to The Hub. It was generally understood these donations were not truly voluntarily given out of good-will, but all involved much preferred having the Mages as a whole comfortable and, thus, unlikely to choose to make an issue of anything.
After fulfilling a few of these requests, Helene found herself in a much better financial position and decided it was time to move out of the Sanctuary. Since she wished to continue with some private non-Mage-related studies, she thought some sort of combination residence and personal office space made the most sense. She didn’t wish to feel as cramped at home as she had been at The Hub and, temporarily, still was while at the Kethyras Sanctuary.
One of the Sanctuary Stewards was able to find her an ideal rental location in Clearcross relatively close to the Grove. Since the property was being rented by the Sanctuary on her behalf, the Keeper requested Helene take on requests which would result in payment of at least two golds per Zephyrionth — the cycle time of Zephyrion, the lighter moon. This was an excellent arrangement in Helene’s mind, as it would be a full ten days longer than a Nyktorinian — the cycle time of Nyktorine, the darker moon. If she was unable to perform tasks to meet those payments, she was, of course, required to make the payments directly.
Now, just under three years later, she felt somewhat more comfortable living in the city — at least at home. She was still very much devoted to her own studies and was far from social or sociable, but there were a few locations, eateries and such, which she frequented and had earned goodwill there.
There were still occasional lulls in requests to the Sanctuary, as well as a lull in any requests handed directly to her. During these times, such as now, she would need to rely on the considerable account she had amassed which was on deposit at the Sanctuary. After all, only someone who was suicidal would attempt to steal coins from a Sanctuary which might be full-to-overflowing with powerful Mages happy to teach someone a lesson about the stupidity of robbing from those with Powers.
She used these times even more focused on her studies, or just wandering the streets at random, talking to no one, and seeing what might have changed since the last time she’d had an opportunity to do so.
Nonna Torsdottir had been traveling on foot for two Zephyrionths since her odd night’s stay at a caravan rest stop in the woods. That evening, talking with the seemingly old man who had not claimed to be one of the gods of her people … but hadn’t claimed not to be either … had been utterly bizarre. She’d been stunned by the almost other-than-worldly powers he displayed as he casually snatched one of her thrown hand-axes out of the air as if it weren’t moving. Her surprise was made complete when he showed her what could only be an unheard-of traveling companion — a fully grown ice bear. His later declaration that she had some sort of interesting future fascinated her and given her sufficient strength to resist consuming too much ale or whatever else the cheapest beverage was at the next inn — the next two inns, actually.
After that, though, the … compulsion — for she could not call it anything other — was too great. And after, once more, drinking far too much, she had awoken the next morning, her head in agony and undressed in a bed which was not the one in her room. As she typically found in this situation, there were a few silvers resting on a bedside table, with her clothes tossed haphazardly across her pack and weapons in a pile next to the bed. She was shamefully aware of how alluring her powerful physique, combined with her dark hair and silvery eyes always attracted unwanted attention. Don’t forget the ears … it’s always the ears that really get them curious and snuffling around at you.
Yes, those damned pointed tips on the top of her ears, clearly showing she was not a full-blooded member of her tribe — from which she was long since exiled. You really need to stop lying to yourself. You exiled yourself and walked away. That, too, was another truth she was unable to bear contemplating and so she continued to drown her memories in alcohol and as much distance, including physical, from her past as she could.
The two Zephyrionths since that rest stop had been, as always, without any sort of destination in mind — simply following a randomly chosen road out of town, knowing it would lead, soon enough, to the next tavern or inn. Between occasional honest work and those damned bed-side coins, she was able to survive — just barely — but survive she did. This moment, she felt as though, perhaps, her journeys had reached a possible ending point? The road she was on descended slowly towards the end of a valley. And, there, at the other end of the valley, opening up to a water-filled … Bay? Harbor? One of those words, right? … was the one location everyone, everywhere, had heard of, although most never visited — Kethyras, The City of the Ascendant Moons. Calling it “famous” would be far too … positive … for all of the varied stories told about everything that ever happened in it. And there it was, displayed before her in its … glory, again, would be far from the correct term. The words immorality and decadence were probably far better suited.
Before she continued down the road, she lifted her water-skin and took a deep draught of the last of the strong ale it contained. She was certain somewhere ahead, there had to be an inn with ale both plentiful and cheap enough to slake her thirst. And either the twinned hand-axes at her belt, or the great-axe strapped to her pack, would probably be sufficient to keep the male dogs from sniffing too closely until she had consumed large quantities first.
A couple of glasses later, she had, indeed, found an inn just within the official boundaries of Kethyras. The ale was barely drinkable but, at a copper-and-half per mug, much too pricey for her to enjoy as much of it as she needed. From listening to other patrons, she overheard that she was in the outskirts of the Clearcross Terrace district and this route was used by all of the merchant caravans and other peddlers and tinkers entering or leaving the city. As such, the innkeeper desired to harvest as much coin as possible before weary travelers learned of the cheaper options available further in. She also understood the surroundings that would be most what she desired were closer to Claymarket, although not in that area itself. On that side of the district, so long as she didn’t venture into the Market itself, the ale wouldn’t be brewed with gutter-water and she was unlikely to be assaulted on sight.
Thanking the barmaid, she hoisted her pack once again, and strode deeper toward the harbor. The buildings were still reasonably well-kept, although the level of upkeep did noticeably decrease the further in she went. This drop in building quality was paired with an equally noticeable rise in the pungent odor of the environment. Finally going as far as she could reasonably tolerate while still mostly sober, she found another tavern, this one hidden on a side street. The ales available here were either a half-copper or quarter-copper per mug, so she sat at an empty table, slammed a few coppers down on the table and told the barmaid to keep her mug filled with the cheap stuff so long as there were coins on the table and she was still conscious.
Once the coins had all vanished, Nonna discovered she was still conscious — feeling quite relaxed, but conscious nevertheless. Not wanting, just yet, to sit and drink until she finally did pass out, and with no other plans, she decided to see more of the streets before the sun vanished for the day. She was extremely tempted to venture into Claymarket to find someone who might wish to try their luck against her in combat, but realized it probably wasn’t the wisest choice to risk running afoul of the City Watchmen after having just arrived. After all, you never knew which side they’d be on. She’d never seen a sea before, nor even the edge of one, so heading towards the docks to gaze upon the open water was her next destination.
Standing very unsteadily, she hoisted her pack once more and staggered as she wobbled back and forth heading out the door and back onto the street. Getting herself oriented, she headed northeastward towards the water, still somewhat lurching to keep from collapsing just yet — there was time enough for that later. The trading and market area was obvious and then, on the other side, she got a much stronger hint of the salty air she’d been told was the scent of the water. Winding her way back and forth around the buildings, something caught her attention out of the corner of one eye. She stopped and turned to look, struggling to understand what she could make out in the dimming light.
Partway down a side alley she spotted a man and … a young girl? The girl’s hood was pushed back from her head and her hair shone silver as the light caught it. The man in front of her was much taller than the girl, and the two were clearly in the middle of some sort of heated argument, probably with a very poor outcome for the girl. It was all too far away for Nonna to hear any of what was being said. But she’d seen this sort of confrontation often in the past. She had been a part of such a confrontation too many times to count. The girl was clearly being threatened and was in danger of being dragged off to a stranger’s bed — or worse.
Feeling as heroic and honorable as she ever had when she’d been a warrior of her tribe, Nonna judged the distance between them to be approximately twenty-five paces. She knew she was skilled at throws of easily twice that and had no worries about being able to rescue the young girl. After slowly and quietly tugging one of the hand-axes from where it hung at her belt, she held it in front of her and took careful aim. She pulled her arm back, shouted at the man, and then whipped her hand and arm forward, throwing her body weight behind the throw as well.
The axe spun through the air, flying true. Hearing Nonna’s shout, both the man and the girl turned towards her just in time for the axe to embed itself deeply in the man’s forehead —killing him instantly — and he dropped to the ground as a puppet with its strings abruptly cut.
Intensely pleased with herself, Nonna strode forward with a big grin on her face to retrieve her axe. To her surprise, as she drew closer, she noticed the girl did not seem happy at being rescued and, instead, was clenching and unclenching her fists. Once she was just a couple of paces away, Nonna spoke first, her words slightly slurred, “It’s all right, girl. The bad man won’t hurt you now. You’re safe.”
Helene had been working diligently to resolve this latest request submitted to the Sanctuary. It had come from one of the families “on the Crest” — which meant the purse would be sizable and filled with gold coins. Sure enough, the amount the Keeper stated was required to have it fulfilled to be eighty golds. The Hazerun patriarch, Brynmor, had agreed without discussion or argument. While she would be seeing sixty-four of those, and the amount retained by the Sanctuary was significantly more than would normally be expected for her contributions for several Zephyrionths, there was no way she could possibly refuse.
Apparently, the eldest son of the Hazeruns, Christopher, had gone missing a five-day ago. This was announced by the delivery of a note demanding several hundred golds, “We know it’s less than you have and more than this stupid piece of meat is worth.” The message of “deliver the gold … or else” had been clear even if not explicitly stated.
Needless to say, Brynmor Hazerun was not about to allow his family, or indeed, anyone on the Crest, to be blackmailed like this — certainly not by someone who wasn’t of at least equal standing, at which point it would simply have been a part of the political games the Crest families constantly played with each other. And for the demand to be something as “low and crass” as coins was simply unthinkable. Thus, Brynmor himself had traveled to the Sanctuary (complete with guarded carriage and lowly servants to clear his walking path of any trash or speck of dirt) to deliver the request in person.
However, for all of Helene’s efforts, she could find no trace of any sort regarding possibly had happened to young Christopher. She scoffed to herself, “Pfft. Young! The kid’s seventeen. Not nearly all that young.” The only lead of any sort which seemed to exist was one of the Hazerun’s servants, a man named Titus Rovito. Rovito was usually waiting on “Young” Christopher and recently the two had been seen at the mansion on the Crest deep in conversation. When questioned regarding these conversations, Rovito simply responded that the master had been asking him about what life was like “down in the lower city”, and he’d done his best to answer.
Which was why she was here, just as evening was about to fall, carefully and quietly following the servant as he wound his way through the streets and alleys of the city. Helene used the barest touches of wind to keep any sounds she made heading away from Rovito as she followed him. For reasons she couldn’t determine, he kept edging towards the Docks and then veering away, as if concerned someone might see him heading there. He was, however, slowly getting closer and closer.
Just as the sun was low over the valley to the west, he seemed to make up his mind and started turning corners much more sharply and increased his pace. “Ah, ha, little rabbit. Decided to run, have you?” Helene didn’t think she’d been spotted, but the sudden change in activity certainly seemed to bear further inquiry.
Another quick gesture and a small “localized” air bubble wrapped around her, allowing her to move much faster than she might otherwise. She’d pay for that later when the effort hit her, but for now, she knew she couldn’t lose him. Sure enough, he was headed into the Docks now. “Ok, time for some direct questions,” she told herself.
Dashing forward, she caught up to him and used a quick blast of air to push him into an alley. The sudden assault surprised him, leaving him dazed and giving her the opportunity to rush up to confront him. She dispersed the air bubble before she got too close, and as she ran forwards her hood fell back from her head, allowing her silvery locks to be seen.
In the alley, she faced him, demandingly. “Look what we have here, hmm? A Crest servant, sneaking around in the Docks only days after his master has disappeared and a ransom note delivered? I have to wonder whether these things are connected in some fashion.”
As he recovered, Rovito darted his eyes around and quickly realized the only one person nearby was this little girl. And he was not about to take seriously any sort of questioning accusation being hurled at him by a child. He leaned forward, menacingly. “Look, girlie, I’m on personal business. Ain’t no concern of yours. Now scram, ya got it!?!”
Just then, both of them heard a yell from the open end of the alley and turned towards it … immediately followed by a small spinning hand-axe landing dead center in Rovito’s forehead, splitting his skull and dropping him to the ground.
Helene looked down at the body. “No. This can’t be,” she whispered harshly. She was clenching and unclenching her fists in frustration at this development. Turning back, she saw a taller woman with dark hair walking … well, more like “staggering” … towards her. This woman was smiling at having just killed a man in cold-blood. As she got closer, the other woman grinned and said, “It’s all right, girl. The bad man won’t hurt you now. You’re safe.”
Helene couldn’t believe her ears. No civilized person could do this. This … this … barbarian … had murdered the servant without a thought, but also had done so because she thought Helene needed saving? “What have you done?” Helene screamed at her. “I needed him alive, you idiot! He was my only lead on this!” Unable to contain her anger any longer, she gestured quickly, conjuring a disk of water and a propelling blast of air to slam it into the woman, hurling her against the wall. When Nonna hit, her head snapped backwards and then she, too, dropped to ground. Getting herself under control once more, Helene stepped forward to make sure she hadn’t killed the woman — two bodies would only make matters worse. Thankfully, she wasn’t dead, just unconscious — although it wasn’t clear whether that was from the impact or, based on how her breath stank, the obviously massive amount of alcohol she’d consumed. She turned away from the woman to consider the situation.
Given his current state, one thing was certain — Rovito was not about to answer any questions. But she didn’t like the thought of leaving his body just in the middle of an alley in the Docks. If he was connected to the Hazerun son’s disappearance, this would be too suspicious and could alert the kidnappers they were being hunted. Alternately, if he wasn’t connected, the obvious murder of a servant might be just as worrisome and still make them think they were being hunted. Neither outcome was an acceptable result. On the other hand … if the servant were to just … disappear? If that were to happen, who could possibly say where he might have gone?
She sighed and knew she had to get to work before anyone else walking by happened to spot what was going on. This was going to be extremely tiring, but there was no getting around it if she wanted to keep anyone else from discovering what had taken place here. A couple of gestures and a dirt tub was summoned around the body, lifting it off the ground and simultaneously sheltering it from view. After a bit of effort and no small amount of grunting, she was finally able to pry the small axe from the man’s head — the woman who threw it was far stronger and more skilled than was readily apparent.
It was important to leave absolutely no trace, so the blade needed to be thoroughly cleansed. This required combining small touches of fire and water to the blade, leaving it spotless. Once that was done, she took it over to the unconscious woman and slid it into the empty belt loop which was clearly the twin of the one on her other hip, holding an identical axe.
Back to the corpse, she pondered further. It would be almost impossible to use her Powers to dispose of anything metallic, so those needed to be removed first. Feeling as if she had become an uncomfortable blend of petty thief and grave robber, she searched through his garments. She was surprised to discover an excessively full coin pouch on his belt. Peering inside, she saw it contained a mix of several golds, perhaps up to 70 or 80, with a few silvers tossed in as well. “Hmm… And just what were you doing with this many golds?” she mused softly as she tucked the pouch into a pocket of her cloak. “Regardless, you won’t be needing these any more.” She felt justified in keeping them as the necessary payment for the expenditure of Powers required to clean this up.
Searching further, she removed his belt buckle and three buttons from his vest. These went into a different pocket to be dealt with later. She wanted to examine them in better light to see if there was any sort of distinctive markings on them although she doubted they’d reveal anything. Other than those items, everything else remaining was flesh or cloth or leather. Not looking forward to the effort this would demand, but knowing she couldn’t delay further, she rubbed her hands together in preparation and began fixing in her mind the necessary complex gestures.
She started with fire, but continued building more and more into the same summoning — still keeping it tightly contained. This served to create an intense heat which she directed back and forth across the body. Within barely a tenth of a glass, nothing was left in except for a large pile of ashes and the bones, which had mostly fused into the hardened and crusted tub of dirty clay. Dismissing the fire since it was no longer needed, she slumped against the wall, drained from the effort of maintaining a summoning of that intensity for that long.
A conspicuous tub of clay in a random alley would draw too much attention. She smiled briefly in memory of an often-recited adage from her years at The Hub, “What Powers bring forth, Powers can dismiss.” Thankfully, with the bones bare and fused into the tub, they were now easily manipulated as being part of the tub itself. Another few quick gestures and the tub dissolved, disappearing back into the ground from where it had been summoned, leaving only the pile of ashes in the middle of the alley. It would be best to summon a blast of air to disperse the ash as well, but she was already feeling somewhat light-headed from the fire and knew that might be too much for her just now.
Still resting against the wall, Helene reached into a pocket in her cloak and pulled out a chunk of dried meat to gnaw on. It was almost as tough as leather, and she couldn’t remember how long ago she’d tucked it in there, but even the small amount of energy it provided should suffice to get her through the rest of what else needed to be done and allow her to make it back home so she could properly collapse … at least so long as she didn’t need to use much more of her Powers.
With all visible evidence now destroyed or about to dissipate in the next stiff breeze, and as worn out as she felt, she was extremely tempted to simply walk away and leave the woman to her fate — she had intruded where she was neither needed nor wanted and potentially destroyed her best chance to fulfill the request and receive the reward purse. On the other hand, there was the heavy purse she’d just taken, somewhat guiltily, from Rovito. As unpleasant as it was to think about, that purse might well be worth more than the promised fulfillment reward. And since he was already dead and she was likely to lose the reward anyway … she tried not to consider the extent to which she was justifying robbing him of it.
Sighing with the realization of what she must do, she pushed herself off the wall and stepped into the street to look around. Several buildings down, she saw a street urchin kicking at stones. She whistled loudly and beckoned him to come over. He stopped close, but not within distance for her to grab — there were always stories of children disappearing from the streets — and shouted, “Yah? What you want, lady?”
Pulling a copper from her pouch, she held it up for him to see. “Go down by the docks. Find a longshoreman or someone who looks like he’s waiting for work. Tell him there’s a Mage who wants his assistance and there’s a silver in it for him. If he asks, just say I’ve got a …” She glanced back into the alley then back to the boy. “A large parcel I need carried back to my residence.”
The boy’s eyes darted. “And the copper you’re holding?”
“Yours … once you return with a man willing to earn a silver.”
Without another word, he darted off in the direction of the docks. A tenth later, he returned, practically dragging a much larger and burly man by the sleeve. “I gots’ him, lady! He said he’ll work.”
The man looked her up and down. “Mage, eh? I guess that’s you, huh? Heard stories ‘bout Mages. A’int never seen one, a’fore.” He dug in his ear with his little finger. “Need something hauled, the kid said?”
She nodded at the man as she tossed the copper coin at the boy who caught it and ran away. “Yes. There’s a woman in the alleyway here. She … surprised me at the wrong moment and I may have knocked her out as a result. Or, given how her breath smells, she may just have passed out. Either way, I am uncomfortable with simply leaving her sleeping in a gutter like this. I’d like you to carry her to my house. It’s in Clearcross, just the other side of the Grove. A silver once we get there.”
“Not that I don’ trust you, but … lemme see the silver now, miss.”
She pulled a silver out of her pouch and showed it to him. “There you are. Nice and shiny. Just waiting for you to claim it.”
“A’ight. She’s just ‘ere in the alley?” He stepped forward to look. “Ey’! What’s with all the axes she got?”
“As far gone as she is right now, I doubt she’s in any shape to use them.” Helene was studiously ignoring how deadly accurate that hand-axe throw had been — best not to think of that just now. “Any other questions?”
“Ya care how’s I carry her? Like, do I gots’ ta’ be gentle and princess carry her or some shite? I normally just haul sacks of grain and the like. They don’ ever complain how I carry ‘em.”
“Feel free to throw her over your shoulder if that’s the easiest. Just be warned — don’t try to feel her up.”
“I gots’ a wife at home. Don’ need another gal on the side.” That said, he stepped into the alley, lifted the woman up and easily tossed her over his shoulder like she was a sack of feathers. “Lead on, Miss Mage.”
“All right. I’ll go with you as you carry her. Pardon me if I pause every now and then to rest. I’m quite tired at the moment.
Nonna woke slowly the next morning. As consciousness returned, she became aware of several things, some far too ordinary, while others significantly less so. First, of course, was how much her head hurt. That was all too common, but the sensitive bump on the back of her head was a surprise. Next, she was laying in a bed and couldn’t recall getting a room at an inn. Finding herself waking up in a stranger’s room — again, far too common.
From there, though, the typical elements quickly began to disappear. The mattress underneath her body and the pillow on which her head rested were comfortable to the point of making her feel as if she were floating on a cloud. Then there was a definite scent to the pillow and even the entire room which was extremely … the only word she could possibly think to describe it was “feminine”. While this had happened once or twice in the past, it was an extremely rare occurrence.
Beyond that, and to her extreme surprise and bewilderment, she quickly realized she was still dressed. Her boots were off and when she cracked an eye open, she saw them resting next to a chair in the room. Opening that eye a little more to peer around, she saw her two hand-axes resting on the bedside table, but, compounding the surprise, the customary coins were not present next to them
As she looked still more, she spotted her pack, complete with her great-axe, leaning against the chair and then, even more surprising, what appeared to be a very young girl with silvery hair sound asleep in the chair. Rather than allowing herself to fall back to sleep, she forced her other eye open and pulled the covers back. As much as she didn’t want to leave a bed quite this comfortable, her intense curiosity about what else could have possibly happened the previous night forced her to rise.
She swung her legs over the side to slowly — and unsteadily — stand up. She was unwilling to wake the stranger in the chair, not without as much information as she could gather. Grabbing her axes, she silently slid them into the loop axe-holsters at her belt, and then slid her feet across the floor to peer out the curtained window. As far as she could tell, based on the style of the buildings she saw, she was still in Kethyras and, apparently, in a nice enough area. The hint of the sea and lack of an overwhelmingly disgusting odor which came through the slightly open window seemed to confirm this assessment.
As she debated what to do next, she realized she desperately needed to use a chamberpot, so she turned around to look under the bed. One of her hand-axes bumped into the chair and made a loud enough sound to rouse the sleeping girl. Nonna paused to look much more closely as the girl slowly woke and realized she’d been wrong. This was not a girl at all, but just an extremely young looking woman.
The stranger woke fully, stretching her arms above her, then looked at Nonna. “Ah. I guess we’re both awake now, hmm?”
Unsure what might have possibly happened, Nonna simply responded, “Yeah. I just woke up. Um … I’m Nonna Torsdottir.” She paused before asking a possibly delicate question. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see a pot in this room?”
“A pot? Oh, you mean … There isn’t one. Just go out the door turn left and then it’s the first door to the right. It’s a privy — all in a separate room, and it’s not a pot. There are some clean rags to wipe with if you need to. Just toss them down the hole after. I’ll take care of everything later.”
“Take care of … Are you a maid, miss?”
“Maid? Hardly. Helene Fabry. Well, technically it’s Lady Fabry, although these days, I usually go by Mage Fabry. You may call me Helene. I’ll just burn it all to ash later. I must have passed out right after the longshoreman carried you here.”
“Longshoreman? Carried me? I … I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain later. Now, you said you need to use a pot?”
“Oh, yes.” Her body requirements caught up with, and surpassed, her total lack of understanding, so she walked out of the room and found the specified door. Once she was finished — using a single rag and tossing it into the hole as she’d been told to do — she returned to the room. The other woman, Helene, had changed her clothes and was again seated, waiting for her. Nonna wasn’t great at judging other people, but Helene appeared to be quite tired.
“Y-You said you could burn everything there to ash? Does that you you’re … I-I’m sorry, but I’ve never met an Ignimage before.”
Helene chuckled. “You still haven’t. I’ve got more than just fire. I’ll explain later. At the moment, though, I am in need of food almost to the point of starvation. The efforts of last night were draining which is why I so quickly and easily passed out the instant I sat down. Will you join me in breaking my fast and I can explain everything then?”
“Y-Yes, of course. Let me get my boots on first?”
“Go ahead. I’ll go grab my cloak. You can leave your pack here, by the way. We can come right back here afterwards. Meet me at the front door. To the left again, but then through the door at the end of the hallway.” With that, Helene stood and walked out of the room.
After pulling her boots on and quickly lacing them, Nonna looked briefly at her pack, then decided she would follow what the Mage had told her to do and left it there. Returning to the hallway, she turned left. Stepping through the slightly open door at the end, she suddenly found herself in a large entryway. To the left was a large archway into what could only be an office space, complete with a desk and a couple bookcases against the walls. These appeared to be jammed full of books and scrolls with more piled atop the desk.
Helene stood by the front door, a cloak pulled over her shoulders and the hood pushed back. “Most of the time I wear the hood up because my hair is distinctive and … I’m not all too comfortable with being quite so noticeable. Since we’re going together, I will leave it down. I don’t wish to appear unsocial.”
“No, please … wear it however you are comfortable. I’m still very lost and trying to understand any of this.”
“It’s quite all right. For just now, leaving it down is fine.”
With that, the pair stepped outside. Helene paused to pat around in her cloak and, after a couple of grains pulled forth a key to lock the door. “Honestly, I almost never use this. Usually just a quick earth cast to seal it, but with how tired I am, I feel as though I would pass out before I completed it.”
“So, y-you’re also a Terromage? I … I’m sorry. I don’t know the right term for fire and earth together.” Nonna was stuttering badly and almost on the edge of cowering in fear.
Helene chuckled in response and started slowly walking, assuming Nonna would walk as well. “No, I’m actually a full Quadrimage. So — all four.”
Nonna stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the street, suddenly utterly terrified at just how much power this young woman must be capable of wielding.
Helene beckoned her to stay with her. “Please relax. I’m not about to blast you apart. I had that chance last night and refrained. Please? I so rarely have company for any meals. I think this might be a pleasant change.”
With no reason not to join the other woman, Nonna caught up in just a few strides and the two resumed walking together. As they continued down the street, Helene commented, “In case you hadn’t figured it out, this is Clearcross, although very close by, back that way,” tilting her head over her shoulder and flicking it to indicate the other direction, “is Middlecross. Thankfully, this area is nice and isn’t insanely expensive, so I have a combined office and residence here.”
“I … I just arrived in the city yesterday. At least, I think it was yesterday?”
“You were only out for the night, so that seems likely.” Helene found herself smiling. The two of them seemed to be approximately the same age but the other woman, Nonna, was so much less composed than she was.
“So, yes, I’m a full Quadrimage. From the records back at The Hub, there hasn’t been one in a few generations. Then, when it was time to graduate from training, I didn’t want to stay in Magorethia.” Her tone shifted briefly to one of sadness and loss. “There were … reasons … not to stay. Then I discovered I couldn’t go back home. After that, I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I decided to come here.”
“A-and something happened last night so you had to knock me out?”
“Well — as to that… Ah, here we are.” Helene pointed to the sign over a door. “The Faded Garden. No idea why they persist in calling it that. The garden here is now quite lovely. I come here most mornings, as they have excellent breads and pastries and their meats and cheeses are good as well. Let’s get inside and place our orders and then I can … refresh your memory regarding events of yesterday.”
Once inside, Helene waved at the woman behind the bar and one of the serving girls, then walked directly through to the back, into a small garden area. The plants here were vibrantly alive and the flowers added a colorful beauty to the surroundings. “As I said — no idea why they still call this ‘Faded’. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as pretty and life-filled when I first dined here about three years ago. Nothing a touch of extra water and some fresh earth couldn’t help, though.” Her eyes sparkled for a moment in obvious memory of having been the one responsible for reviving what must have been a failing and dying garden area.
Before they were even seated, a serving girl followed after them. She carried a platter with two small pieces of meat and a roll, which she placed on the table in front of Helene “Mage Fabry, good morrow to you. The Mistress said you looked like you were desperately in need of this and I was to insist you begin to eat as soon as you sat down.” She turned to Nonna. “And good morrow to …?”
“My guest for the moment, Nonna … Torsdottir.”
The girl tugged at her dress and actually curtsied to both of them. Nonna could not remember anyone ever doing that for her, further compounding the novel experiences of the day. The girl continued, “Would you like to order now?”
Helene swallowed the piece of the roll she’d been chewing. “Yes, please. And would you thank her from me for this.” A small wave of the roll she still held in her hand. “She was absolutely correct about me needing this before I could even think straight.”
“Of course, Mage Fabry. For food, just this morning, the Mistress made some kourou pasties, stuffed with boar meat. And, of course, there’s the usual fiadone with cheese she always makes. Two coppers for the kourou, and one for the fiadone.”
“The kourou sounds good for me, and for you, Nonna?”
“I don’t know. But my mouth is watering already either way.”
“Then make it one for each of us?”
“Of course, Mage Fabry. And to drink? From what the Mistress said, I’m not sure you should do your usual trick of filling an empty mug with water for yourself, Mage.”
“I believe you are correct. I’ll take a mug of your weakest.”
“And for you, Miss … Nonna?”
“A mug of something alcohol-filled and strong, please. My head is already hurting.” Helene frowned at this declaration, but nodded at the girl to proceed with the order anyway.
After she left to put the order in, Helene continued. “I know you don’t recall yesterday evening, but I suspect your drinking might be partially responsible for it.”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“Nothing … nothing at all. But it did almost get you killed.”
“Never met anyone who could beat me physically. You got the better of me with magic. Haven’t run into someone who threw that at me before.”
A lull settled in between the two as Helene finished the meat and roll from the small sampler platter. A twentieth later, the girl returned with two mugs, one full with a layer of foam on top, placed in front of Nonna, and the other also filled, but with only a thin layer of foam, for Helene.
“Thank you,” said both as they picked up their drinks and took long swallows. “I don’t normally have any of the brews here, but please tell the Mistress they’re always good.” A pause. “But not as good as her baking and cooking.”
Helene smiled and the serving girl grinned back. “Of course, Mage. The breads should be out in another tenth. They got put back in the oven so they’d be hot for you.” She curtsied again to both and vanished back into the main area of the tavern, leaving the two of them alone.
Nonna took another drink and put the mug back down. “You may not have ever tried the stronger stuff, but that is good.”
Helene hoped Nonna wouldn’t quickly return to her fully-intoxicated state of the previous evening as she took another small sip from her own mug, letting the very weak ale help recharge her.
“Now, allow me to fill you in about what happened yesterday, at least from the point when you first appeared…”
Helene began with the background of explaining how Sanctuaries received requests and Mages were then tasked with fulfilling them, as well as the payment structure. Their meals arrived and both began eating. As she did, Helene felt her strength returning. She would still be unable to exercise her full power for another day, and knew she would need much more to eat before the day was over.
Once they finished their initial order, Helene asked for one of the fiadone for herself and both ordered another mug of what they’d been drinking. “I hope you won’t return to the same drunken stupor you were in last night.”
“I’ll be fine. This is barely enough to take the edge off from the mysterious bump on the back of my head.”
“Ah, yes. Now that you understand at least some of why I was out yesterday and the general idea of what I was doing, let me tell you the specifics and get to where you … intruded … and what happened afterwards.”
The next glass was spent with Helene doing just that while she happily ate the cheese-filled fiadone. Nonna, meanwhile, ordered yet another mug and listened, first with interest and then growing embarrassment and shame at what she had done and how she had forced Helene to cover up the results.
“I … I don’t know what to say. Or if there’s any way I can possibly apologize. I messed up really badly. Obviously, I’m sorry. I wish I could say that the drink was at fault, but I also know I’m the one who was drinking and it was my hand-axe.”
Helene dismissed the need to apologize. “What’s done is done. And there’s no going back and changing the past.” Under her breath, she sighed and said softly, “Gods know I wish I could go back far enough to change things.”
“This isn’t an excuse, but … speaking of the past, I … I haven’t ever really spoken of mine to anyone. And I know my past is the reason for most of … how I am now.” Nonna hesitated. She truly had never told the story to anyone and no one outside of her tribe, and that mysterious man in that lodge, knew the story.
Slowly at first and then more steadily as she realized Helene was not judging her harshly for it, Nonna told what she knew of her birth — of her mother obviously having been either seduced or raped by one of the dokkalfar. “That’s why the hair and,” she tugged her hair back from the side of her head for a moment before letting it fall forward again, “the ears.” Nonna continued her story of growing up to be a warrior but shunned by her people and eventually fleeing them in a self-imposed exile. From there, she told of her growing intoxication and ongoing shame in waking up in strangers’ beds.
“Honestly, this morning, waking up in a bed that I hadn’t intended to sleep in felt all too common.” She smiled somewhat wistfully. “Although, doing so while still clothed and without random coins sitting next to me was a welcome change.”
Helene couldn’t help but feel sympathy for this strange woman who’d burst into her life. Yes, she had been brutally destructive, but there was somewhat of a sense of — she couldn’t call it anything other than “shared disconnection from the world”.
“My own story is very different, and definitely not nearly as alcohol and strange-bed-filled as yours. Except for the one time just after I turned eleven and went through my Awakening.” Helene then proceeded to tell her own story.
She started from the beginning, growing up as the youngest daughter of a minor Baron, through the night of her Awakening — the night she couldn’t remember, but also could never forget — when she was woken by her maids cleaning and dressing her in the shambles of her room — which ended with a tear-filled farewell from her mother. She continued with describing the journey from Sanctuary to Sanctuary to finally reach The Hub and the initial testing to determine her affinities, followed by the Binding with its endless hours and days of painful tattoos being applied to her arms and legs intermixed with the excruciating hot iron brands to seal the Binds.
When she recounted that, Nonna was horrified at what was done. “And all Mages go through that? With no healing or anything even to dull the pain?”
“They said either would interfere with the process. All of the Desmofilakoi — the Binders — just kept repeating how it was for the best, and I needed to be tough and endure it. Easy enough to tell someone else. A lot more difficult to deal with when you’re an eleven-year-old girl who’s just been ripped away from your family.”
“I — I can’t even imagine it.” Nonna took another look at Helene. “Is … Is that why you wear long sleeves and trousers?”
“Yes. Every Mage I’ve ever met does. None of us think they’re pleasant to look at, especially since they’re a constant reminder of the process.” She felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes and wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“After the Binding, came the training … and more training … and still more training. First I had to learn each affinity separately, then combining them. After that, they ran out of training materials, so all the instructors just kept making things up and seeing if they could be more clever than I was. Most of the time, I was able to figure something out, although every time I missed was an opportunity for them to rant at me about how ‘talented’ I was and how I had to become even more capable.
“Then, on top of that, because they wouldn’t want an uneducated Mage to be on the loose, we also had formal educations in reading and writing and numbers and such. But that was heaped on top of the Mage training, so the days were endless and I rarely had a break. It was only towards the end when I started to appreciate the non-Mage education — which is why I still pursue it even now.
“Finally, after seven years, they couldn’t figure out anything else to do to me, so they officially ‘graduated’ me and said I was now a fully-trained Quadrimage. Handed me a pouch so I wouldn’t be living on the streets, they said, and let me have a horse so I could go wherever I might want. I knew I couldn’t be there for long, but I wanted to see my mother and father and sister again — to show them I’d survived what had happened and even grown some.”
Helene was starting to break down and had to force herself to keep from getting emotional. She continued describing how she found her family mansion in ruins from an accidental fire years before which left everyone inside dead as a result. Nonna felt her heart breaking at hearing of Helene’s loss.
“That was three years ago. With nowhere else to go, I came here and have made a decent living, using my Powers to fulfill Sanctuary requests. I had to make sure I learned where everything is in the city, but beyond that, I … I don’t really go out much. There’s a couple of places, like here, I frequent for eating. And occasionally, I need to find a seamstress to get a garment mended or something new … or a cobbler for shoes.”
Helene stopped to think. “When I first arrived, the Keeper or one of the Sanctuary Stewards would invite me out to dine. But, after that first Nyktorninian or so, I can’t recall eating with anyone else the whole time I’ve been here. As you may have realized, I don’t usually get along too well with most people.”
They spent the next quarter-glass in silence, both of them lost in their thoughts, contemplating each other’s past and the ways in which they were very similar — but also very different.
Finally, Helene pushed her chair back to leave. “Enough of that. I need to figure out where the young Hazerun has wandered off to and have precious little to go on, unfortunately.”
Nonna pushed her chair back as well, then began to open her purse. Helene waved the offer away, then pulled two silvers out of her own purse and tossed them onto the table. “No, no. I insist. This was my invitation, after all, and they treat me very well here, as you saw.”
“I don’t want to intrude — even more than I already did by blundering into things yesterday — but, maybe I could help with finding him? I don’t know anything about the city, obviously, but I’m not … terrible … when talking with other people. Maybe I could help you that way? You could show me around Kethyras and I could do some asking? I mean, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that a lot of things get said in taverns.”
Helene looked at Nonna and thought about her offer. “All right. But! You’ve already had a few mugs. To keep both of us from going crazy, I absolutely forbid you from getting into the same state you were in yesterday!” While she had a stern expression on her face, the corners of her eyes tugged upwards hinting at a smile hiding beneath the surface.
“As you command, Mage Fabry.”
“Hush! I told you — call me Helene, please?”
The two left The Faded Garden and returned, briefly, to Helene’s house. They were there long enough for her to gather her sparse notes and for both of them to use the privy — and for Helene to apply a touch of fire to the contents, incinerating them. All of that done, they left — this time, with Helene using her “trick” of a conjured earth lock on the front door.
“I’m still not sure how any of that works, but, as you’ve already figured out, I tend to just drink and hit things.”
“Yes, I had noticed.” Both shared a quiet laugh. “It’s easy enough to dismiss, if you can do earth magic, and you know it’s there.”
This time, Helene pulled her hood up over her head. “I know this may seem like I’m trying to ignore you, but I do get a bit uncomfortable wandering around the city just … uncovered, and open without it up.”
That said, they began walking the streets of Kethyras.
As they did, Helene told Nonna what she knew of the city and the areas they walked through. And, every second or third tavern they encountered, Nonna would insist they enter — “for information gathering, of course.”
Keeping to her word, Nonna refrained from ordering the strongest brew available in each, and Helene surreptitiously lightened the mugs, dispelling some of the contents and replacing them with an equal amount of water. Her cloak allowed her to hide the gestures involved in this manipulation. And, in each location, Nonna would chat with the barmaids and some of the other patrons, then, after just one mug, apologize about how she had to be on her way.
They had been through five such stops and were walking away when Nonna commented, “Gotta say this about Kethyras. Aside from that garden place, the brews are tasty, but they sure water them down a lot. Not sure I’ve had such consistently ruined mugs in my life.”
Helene felt her cheeks grow warm and bashfully answered, “That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I really would like to keep you sober for this. I’ve been discarding some of the contents of each and replacing it with water to keep it as full.”
“That’s why! I couldn’t figure out why everyone wasn’t complaining about that. Please, stop? I promise I will limit myself to just one mug per tavern. And if I start to get … wobbly … we can stop for the day, right?”
“All right. I will stop, for now. But as soon as you don’t stop when you need to, while we’re doing this, I’m turning them all to water, got it?”
“As you say, Mage Fabry.”
“I already told you — cut that out! It’s Helene!”
At the end of the first day, Nonna shifted her pack into a spare room at Helene’s house and settled in. She found herself enjoying the luxury of a bed she could, at least for the moment, call her own, with a room she could do likewise. Helene, meanwhile, gradually became comfortable with the idea of sharing a household with someone who was … becoming a friend — much to the surprise of both.
The next several days proceeded much as that first one had — breaking their fast at the Faded Garden and then wandering around different areas of the city. While Nonna continued to be amazed at all the city held — from the Docks, where she wanted to linger for several glasses, simply gazing out into the bay and wondering what existed far beyond, to the myriad of stores and other sellers of goods throughout Gateway.
There were two places they did not wander through. The first was the Crest, limiting themselves to gazing up at the magnificent buildings high above the rest of the city. Helene explained how both of them would be obviously out of place there and there was an equal probability either the city Watchmen would be called or the private guards of the various Crest families would. No matter which were involved, there would be some sort of significant unpleasantness. If that happened, Helene was confident their own safety was assured, but was not enamored of the idea of causing serious injury, or worse, to a score or more of guards just because they ventured into territory where they were too clearly out of place. Also, given the demand for a ransom of coins, it was extremely unlikely anyone on the Crest was involved in this.
The other was Claymarket. There, while the Watch would definitely not be involved, it was largely guaranteed mere injuries would not suffice to settle matters with whichever band of street toughs decided to cause an issue. Nonna was tempted, almost to the point of begging, saying she hadn’t been in a good fight in ages, but Helene adamantly refused, saying she really wasn’t interested in causing random death and wanton destruction simply because they turned the wrong corner and Nonna needed a workout.
After a five-day had passed, still with no further information, but with a definite growing camaraderie between the pair, when they returned to the house, they spotted a young boy sitting on the step in front of the door. His clothes were not torn, but he wasn’t the cleanest child either had seen in the city, which meant it was likely he was there as a messenger.
As they approached, the boy quickly stood and asked, “Mage Fabry?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Helene responded after lowering her hood.
“A Steward from da’ Sanctuary asked me ta’ come an’ give ya’ a message from da’ Keeper. He said he needs ta’ see ya’ at yer’ earliest.”
Helene sighed. With nothing further gleaned regarding the Hazerun request, it seemed either the Keeper or Brynmor was growing impatient. Pulling a copper from her pouch, she tossed it to the boy. “Please run back and tell whoever is at the desk I will be there shortly.”
The boy snatched the coin out of the air and smiled. “Yes’m! T’ank ya’!” And then he was running off.
“The … Keeper?” Nonna remembered Helene mentioning the title, but didn’t understand the significance.
“He’s … he’s the one who runs a Sanctuary. And it seems he’d like to have a small chat with me. Join me? We can stop for supper afterwards.”
“Sure!” Nonna was curious about a place where several Mages might gather, so she readily agreed.
Entering the main entrance of the Sanctuary, Helene asked Nonna to wait there. Before proceeding deeper in, she stopped at the desk to inform them the other woman was her guest and not to disturb her. As soon as she stepped into the Keeper’s office, he looked up at her. “Ah, Mage Fabry.”
“Yes, yes. I know… I don’t have anything new to report about Christopher Hazerun. There’s damned little out there so I’ve been chasing after wisps of smoke.”
“About that…” He waved her to the chair opposite his desk. “I had yet another interesting meeting with Brynmor earlier.”
“Hmm?”
“It would seem that young Christopher found his own way home.”
“What???”
“Yes, turns out he hadn’t gone quite as missing as it was believed. Instead, he was just …” The Keeper cleared his throat, unsure of exactly how to phrase it. “He was sampling every girl from every brothel in the city.”
“He was doing … what???” Helene could see the promised pouch of gold disappearing into the distance as he spoke.
“Apparently, he’d asked his main servant, Rovito was the name, for information about good places to visit down in the lower city. Once there, he was, according to the madam running the house, quite … unquenchable.” The Keeper cleared his throat in embarrassment. “She kept needing to borrow girls from other houses because he demanded further … sampling and didn’t wish to travel.”
Helene hung her head in her hands at how much turmoil had been caused by the man’s dalliances.
“So, Brynmor returned to relay the details to me. I felt I had no choice but to offer to return the reward purse.”
“Of course.” Helene could only barely control the sneer of displeasure which threatened to leap from her mouth.
“However … it seems this Rovito fellow was charged with fetching coins from the Hazerun household to continue to feed his master’s desires. When the madam was questioned, he’d not been paying her quite as much as Christopher said was taken from his personal safe, so Rovito was obviously skimming extra. In addition, a promised payment of a five-day ago was never delivered. And the man himself has not returned to work.”
Helene had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping in understanding of just where the purse she’d taken from the body had come from. Thankfully, she was able to convert the motion into a slight cough.
“So, Brynmor has, instead, made a different request. He would be most appreciative if this man, Titus Rovito, were to have some sort of … shall we say … accident?”
Understanding his meaning at once, Helene responded, “Am I correct in thinking a … fatal … accident would be the most appreciated?”
“You did not hear me say that, and Brynmor was quite clear that he would never explicitly request such a thing of the Sanctuary, as that would be the same as ordering someone to be killed. But, yes, the meaning was clear.”
Helene’s mind was now fully engaged, contemplating if there might still be a way to earn the promised purse. “I see… And, may I ask — purely out of intellectual curiosity, of course — how would one go about proving such an accident had occurred?”
“It seems this Rovito fellow had some sort of belt buckle he was quite fond of. It’s not with any of his belongings at the Hazerun mansion, so…”
As soon as he said this, Helene reached into the pocket of her cape and found the belt buckle which had been sitting there for the past several days. She casually pulled it out and tossed it onto the Keeper’s desk. She forced herself to contain a laugh.
He blinked at the object he had barely begun to describe so suddenly appearing in front of him. After clearing his throat, he was able to speak again. “Ye-es … remarkably, this would seem to fit the description he provided to me. I’ll need to confirm with him, but I would not be surprised if this is, indeed, the necessary item.”
Looking up at her once more, he continued. “Once this is confirmed, shall I have the Stewards add your payment to what is already on record with us?”
Helene stood up and turned to leave. “Yes. That will be fine. Send someone over one evening to let me know it’s all finished, please? I am having dinner this evening with someone and don’t wish to keep them waiting longer than necessary.”
