At the right moment, the door unbarred. Face to face, Clément watched the countenance of the person he waited for, faking a surprised look.

The man leaned on his cane, eyes down to the ground, then up. The air communicated his inquiry: "I didn't know that you close the night?"

"Yes, except for emergencies."

Clément wondered about the grave state of the man. He looked weaker, paler than the first time he saw him.

"I don't think my case is urgent."

Opening the door wide, a welcoming gesture spurred an explicit invitation, a wide brilliant smile tinted Clèment face with apparent friendliness: "Only a doctor can decide that."

Flickering glances at the man's back, Clément observed closely. The way the visitor walked, the way he held himself, his western clothes, his shoes, even his accessories.

A foggy assumption perturbed the doctor's mind. The feelings of familiarity fragranced the memories of not so long past.

Not deep in, the man stayed standing, his tired eyes, difficultly, marked the bordering objects. Mr. Hendrickson's visual acuity declined tons. A comfy chair was brought to him, he was asked to sit down.

In the middle of the room, the doctor stood behind the chair back, fingers gripping its edge, mellowing the syllables before he spoke: "look over, and tell me what can you see?"

Silence spread like a rippling effect while Clèment proceeded to the second level of observation.

He noted the cleanness degree of the man's clothing, of the exposed parts of his body; hair, neck, hands, nails… Even heaved parts of the perfume he used. A slight Jasmine aroma was mixed in.

When he felt enough satisfaction, he pushed forward, searching for a better angle for a further examination. "Can you describe to me what can you see?"

A few steps, Clément finally decided on a position sufficient to survey this mysterious night visitor: "I can see you but I can't make out the details."

Closer, he approached one step, "And now?"

"No difference."

The doctor's head turned left then right, assessing: "Did you need more light?"

"I can't stand more light."

Is this why he picked the night-time? This question crossed Clément's thought. A sigh left his chest before he asked: "How did you find your way here?"

"I am not blind yet…" He could see a twisted grin." Besides, I have met some help."

Sternly, Clément eyed the sitting man in front of him. Devoured his composed image. Digging through the layers of protection that surround him. He concluded; those are thick walls to penetrate with this superficial interrogation.

He must go deeper if he wanted to disclose the real identity of the artist who painted that piece, the artist who faked his drawing style:" What else can you see aside from my presence?"

In a bit of a second, Nicolai's gaze surfed the entire room. Face to the side, the corner of his lips contorted yet, but for a second time: "Nothing I can make out in particular."

The metaphorical sense of the statement made Clément burst into a hysterical, suppressed chuckle. He said, a melodic voice loosened the surrounding air: "Of course, you have the right to ask questions too."

Pending, the two exchanged pensive regard. Long and meaningful.

Those black inked eyes were hard to deceive or to decipher. This man can or cannot see? Clèment couldn't be certain anymore.

"At the gate of the guesthouse, was our meeting a coincidence?"

Eyes wide, the doctor turned, aimed for his desk. As he set on it, his heels caused a faint rattle. Closing his eyes, he felt that if he tells a lie, this person will certainly see through it. And if he tells the truth, he won't get instantly believed.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He just perceived his visitor as this kind of people… hard to handle or be influenced.

Why bother asking then? The doctor wondered. Unless it was a test… Or maybe a discovery game of hidden agendas.

Akin to a ravenous animal, this mere possibility triggered excessive drooling. Clèment swallowed, his stomach tensed. What a hearty meal for tonight.

All right, then let's go with the flow:

"It was a pure coincidence," He declared, unrestrained, a hint of mirth outdo his formal tone: "I was passing through when I heard someone rebuking laborers." His head swung up, reminiscing, retrieving the scene from the margin of his memories: "So early in the morning, It raised my attention, hence I approached… out of curiosity… " Paused, he judged it too early to speak out his true motive.

In parallel, the strings of dread fluttered a grave timbre. Its resonance stemmed from Clément's bones, echoed high in his head, signaling a prominent danger. A trap he had just tumbled in.

What was the purpose of this seemingly innocent question?

Clément's logic eventually subdued his desire for amusement. Moved fast and locked the man's inquiry with the corpse he had found this morning.

If he himself had never met this man before that time, why then ask about the authenticity of the encounter?

Unless... This man, the corpse of this morning… Were… Familiar with each other…

"Hah. Then, I must have made quite the show of myself." A notably formal, well thought out laugh cut abruptly the chains of the doctor's introspection as if it was intentional.

Pursed lips, tensed chest, Clément re-studied the man. Hunting for proofs. Eyes narrowed in focus. Did or didn't this dignified sire believe in his answer? He couldn't tell.

"Excuse me, Doctor," Clément's attention hooked, here came another attack: "Do quarrels always hold your attention?" What a smug tone. What a sly man, shifting the scales of influence into his favor in the blink of an eye.

However, this sort of low-level provocation, what he wanted to get through it? There were several possibilities. Clément's lack of basic knowledge about the man's core personality made him unable to weigh one possibility over another.

"Actually," he said, words articulating slowly: "What ticked my curiosity wasn't the quarrel itself…, it was the way you dress…, your clothing style."

"Oh!"

"Those who preserve their municipal semblance in a foreign land that is in pre-war state…," he shook his heels, slightly, against the desk, then jumped swiftly to the floor: "I thought you were a complete stranger, oblivious to this city affairs, though, you spoke Babel dialect better than me."

Like a predator relocating within an arc centered by the chair, Clément halted parallel to Mr. Hendrickson's right side. The latter abstained to diverge from his gaze. Kept looking forward, radiating haughtiness.

"I can tell that you aren't an idiot," He paused. There were traces of reasoning lamented in his face; particularly about what he was supposed to say and what he was not: "Either you don't care about your safety or you want to make it easy for someone to spot you." Odd colored eyes graced Nicolai with side glances: "Still, I think you are rather some sort of lunatic, I mean who is in his right mind visiting this kind of neighborhood, in the night, dressed extravagantly, and worst, in foreign clothing?"

In the light of those remarks, the mood, in a way, bounced to an air of friendliness.

Nicolai laughed heartily. A hand lifted to hide his enjoyment. His deep black eyes bordered the limit of his right visual field:" I would be more convinced if you spoke about the painting, that time, I thought that painting was what breath took your awareness."

"It was." Clément reached behind him, gripping the chair. He didn't wish for his expressions to be detected, even for a fleeting glance. "It was." He confirmed, "It was the thing that made me stay." Eyelashes dropped ashing to uphold the visitor's reaction, for he was certain if he confronted this man directly, he will lose the upper hand.

Sitting above the abyss from the back, Nicolai sensed the gravitational pull, quivering to consume him. He changed the subject: "You said that you can cure my eyes."

Maddening his ability to play around. To mold the atmosphere into his fancy. Just with one sentence, the walls of the built-up tension crumble in one go. Burying up the monster's mouth.

Clément retreated a few steps, kept his fingers attached to the chair back by a stroke of patience: "I said, if you want to know what caused your blindness, I may be able to help. Guidance is what I offered at most."

"My case, above your level?" Nicolai mastered a tone of challenge, for he fathomed its efficacy over the earlier pushes and pulls.

An instant of consideration showered the room, Clément sipped the appealing proposal. Chewed every bit before he deemed it: "Serious conditions need ample commitment. I can't engage my services without prior assurances."

"Honorary? You think I can't pay?"

How does he refuse him? While he is still polite. If Mr. Hendrickson reached for Clément's assistance prior to the events of this day, the doctor will, without doubt, grant his request.

" A pledge," Clément strode to his desk, not wasting a turn. "You need to swear or sign on the sanative pledge." For the second time, he used the flatness of the desk as a replacement for a seat: "My self-customized sanative pledge."

***

A grim chorus for death, the caw of crows recorded endlessly, merciless fights. Witnessed by the torn dawn remains of Babel tower. Nonetheless, neglected for hundreds of years, yet still high and imposing.

Within the storm of black feathers rose one person amidst a bundle of corpses. Distracted by a compass in her hand, oblivious to the epic unfolding around her. One crow-sized over her shoulder.

"Those bodies are?" The question echoed inside her head. She nodded. "The gang that wanted to rob Mr. Hendrickson."

The crow pupils narrowed. "Do you believe that Hendrickson gave you the accurate map?"

"We will find out when we search for all the mentioned locations." Stashing the compass, she added: "Anyway, I have tricked him too, but if his map was accurate, I would have saved his life as a payment." She slowly walked to the edge: "Did you receive news about Kanari state?"

"She regained consciousness."

Her walking pace accelerated. "Perfect." Then jumped over the edge.