She noticed Reuben staring at her as she thought aloud with her hand to her chin, aghast. There was something there, he wasn’t aghast because of the far-stretched theory. Did she coincidentally hit close to home? But how would he know? At that moment, Krahe realized. She recognized the rings on his hands, and the coin-like earring dangling from his ear. He was one of the people who had stood right next to Sorayah.
“Ah, but it’s just a rumor, isn’t it,” she smiled, trying to diffuse the tension whilst also leaning in closer as she continued to speak. “She probably pushed him out through some politicking and he turned to anathemism thinking it would help him get one over on her, only to fall flat on his face and burn himself out. Either way, as I said earlier, I won’t make problems for Sorayah so long as she returns the favour.”
The motivation was to “sniff” him in a manner of speaking. Intimately familiar with Isotope as she was, she found detecting it instinctive… And there it was. Faint, barely even present, but undeniably there, clinging to Reuben and tinging his cologne with an ephemeral, semireal acridity.
Another member, a red-haired, tan, spunky girl of similar age to Reuben, barreled into the library, calling: “Is Ms. Brunhilde here? Hello?”
A moment later, she heard the librarian hissing at the girl to quiet down, but she had already taken the excuse and called back: “Yes, I’m here.”
As for Reuben, he saw the woman turn on her boot heel and walk off, but just as she passed him, she stopped for just a moment and whispered: “...If Sorayah’s intent was to send a warning through you, let her know that I still don’t intend to play at politics. If she comes after me, I would be glad to show her what real anathemism looks like.”
A chill ran down his spine, as he glimpsed her eyes, and bore witness to the cold flame of murder behind them. In an instant, the demon-woman flipped back into her casual demeanor, moving to meet the girl.
Reuben didn’t exhale until he heard the two of them leaving, Krahe’s voice echoing: “Call me Krahe, please, Brunhilde feels much too formal.”
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As Krahe made her way back down, the girl who had come for her only affirmed what she had assumed to begin with: “Speaker Ahmadi wishes to meet with you, to finalize your membership.”
“I assumed as much,” Krahe said.
In silence, the girl led her to the end of the same hallway where the library stairway was, simply placing her hand on the door. A pulse of thauma went out from her.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“The Speaker will be with you shortly,” she said with a smile, and walked off.
It wasn’t even three minutes before the door opened in front of her, with Zachariah waving her into his office: “Come in, come in. Don’t mind the door, take a seat.”
Krahe felt her fight-or-flight instinct flaring. It was just like the offices of so many self-proclaimed, all-too-wealthy “collectors”. Lacquered wood paneling, a lavish rug covering the whole damn floor, an eclectic variety of artefacts on display, on and on it went. There was a huge, corked, sealed-up bottle standing in the corner, inside it a lush environment of plants, small lizards, and beetles. The difference between Zachariah’s office and her closest point of reference was that this was fairly normal for someone of Zachariah’s position, rather than being a grotesque flex of power through money and connections. This didn’t even compare to the grandeur of Twin Churches facilities, yet they didn’t offend either, as that imagery hadn’t been sullied in her mind. Indeed, an office such as this was only second to a stereotypical corpocrat’s office in how hard it yanked on Krahe’s death-strings.
“...Ms. Krahe?” Zachariah’s voice snapped her out of it. She had been staring at that terrarium while her mind wandered.
“Sorry. It just reminded me of something,” she said, taking a seat.
“We all wander off, sometimes, it is of no concern!” the Speaker beamed, pushing an ornamental jade box across the table towards her. “The Tarnished Jade Flower lies herein. Do you know what it is? More than a mere code-phrase, it’s…”
He slowly opened it for dramatic effect, though his enthusiasm undercut that.
It was an identity-token, like from some Chinese period drama. The body was made of dark, polished granite, a braided red cord looped through a hole in the top. In its center was a lotus flower with tattered petals, rendered in mottled jade - mostly white, with gorgeous webs of black and green streaking through. Notably, in the box was also an inkstone and a bright vermilion inkstick, with two symbols that Krahe didn’t recognize but which looked very much like Old Chinese. Since Cantonese had supplanted it as the dominant form of Chinese with Goujian II’s reconquista, she hadn’t ever needed to learn it.
“Are you aware of its use, or do you only known the code-phrase?”
“I’m afraid I was not made aware of the specifics, but I might have a guess as to how the Flower is used given the ink stick. A stamp of some kind, perhaps?”
“Right you are!” he beamed once more. Then, the levity drained out from him as he took out the objects in turn, completely seriously explaining: “Anyone stamped using this flower, this specific ink stick, and this specific inkstone will “become known” to the Talisman Mistress. As she described it, a basic snapshot of your capabilities will be taken at the moment of stamping, and sent directly to her. Then, for several days or until she removes the mark, your location will be known to her at all times. She made it very clear not to use the Flower unless one has good reason to contact her in the immediate future - is that your case?”
“It certainly is.”
In that instant, like a rubber band, he snapped back into his cheerful self: “Excellent! We can get started then. Feel free to get comfortable, this ink takes an eon and a half to grind.”