The Hunter Quarter, South Ragah Division, was a rather unassuming affair, considering all the hype that surrounded it. It consisted mainly of a large, square, red-brick structure surrounded by a small yard, with smaller, if more modern-looking extensions scattered around the main building. A large sign over the main doorway announced the nature and purpose of the establishment along with the street name and address. Apart from that, Shwaan could see nothing that distinguished this particular building from the many others like it that he had seen around the neighbourhood on the way over.
Ruban walked into the building through the open doorway and Shwaan followed at a more leisurely pace. He would be lying if he said that walking into a building reputedly full of some of the best Hunters in the city did not fill him with some amount of trepidation, but with it there was also excitement. Excitement at being so close to the beating heart of the anti-Aeriel establishment of Vandram, the core of her famed Hunter Corps; of walking casually into a building he was sure his mother would have given her left wing to be able to infiltrate. He wondered what she would say, if she could see him now.
“Welcome back, boss,” said a young man from behind one of the six large teakwood desks scattered around the expansive workspace in no discernible order. The man, who looked to be about twenty-five, was dressed in a heavily embroidered white tunic paired with fitting white trousers. Looking around, Shwaan saw that the two other occupants of the room were also similarly attired in elaborate tunics and matching pants. “Took you long enough.” The young man scowled darkly at Ruban. “How come you get to escape those damned speeches when we were stuck trying not to gag on the Transport Minister’s atrociously fake Ibantian accent for two whole hours?”
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Ruban’s answering grin was all teeth. “That’d be ’cause I’m the boss and you’re the minion. Got it?”
If the young man ‘got it’, the only indication of his newfound enlightenment was a dismissive clucking noise accompanied by an eye roll. “Where were you anyway?”
“IAW,” said Ruban, moving towards what Shwaan assumed was his own desk in one corner of the room. “Got a call from the Senior Secretary this morning.”
“What for?” asked one of the others, a rotund woman of around fifty, her curly brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. Shwaan squinted to make sure he was seeing right. On one side of her desk sat a large grey alley-cat, reclining on the polished wood with half-lidded eyes. At the sound of the woman’s voice, it turned lazily around to look at her, greeting her with a languorous yawn and a resounding tail-thump.
Ruban ignored the cat. “Something’s come up at SifCo, Hema. Long story. I’ll tell you later.” He spared a swift sideways glance at Shwaan.
“And who’s this, then?” asked the young man who had spoken first, looking Shwaan up and down with open curiosity as if he had just noticed the foreign intruder in their ranks. “Did you swap Simani for a foreigner, boss?” he demanded, feigning shock. “I mean sure, he’s cute, but our Simani wasn’t bad either. Plus you’ve got to give the local kids a chance.”
“If you threw a sifblade with half the enthusiasm you shoot nonsense, Faiz, you might have had a chance at a promotion this year. Simani’s gone to pick Sri up from school. She’ll be here in a bit. As for him,” he said, indicating Shwaan. “He’s Lord Ashwin Kwan from Zaini. He’ll be working with us for a while.”