The eighth bell had just tolled when Aintra Webber left his home in the Quarter of Ash and walked the half-league to the junction of Beldam and Caprice.

It was a walk he had taken for much of the last decade, a path steeped in his family's history. His parents and his grandparents had lived in the same house, their voices echoing through the corridors when they spoke, at length, about the quiet dignity of the area during their youth.

As he stepped around the detritus of the night's activities - and over a few revellers who hadn't quite had the HP to survive whatever mixture of drugs and alcohol they had thrown down their gullets - Aintra reflected that he was pretty glad none of his relatives were still alive to see what had come of the district they had so loved.

As far as Aintra could tell, his family had been proud when he had chosen to follow the family tradition and evolve into a . Not that he'd been inundated with choices, of course. Not many administrative options were available to you when you were disposed towards the fire element. Paperwork was essentially the domain of those who frolicked in air or water, but he'd stuck at it, and his persistence had been rewarded. That had been just the beginning of his journey, and he was, if not eager (it didn't do to be too anticipatory in the Quarter of Ash), then at least content to see where it would all lead.

Every morning, he thanked his lucky stars that he'd been fortunate enough to attract Gravalk's warmth towards him and - of course - that on his first day he'd been directed to attach himself to a young, up-and-coming meteor who was destined to blaze an unlikely trail through the lower floors of the Temple.

As Gianna's secretary, he had made a decent living. Not good enough to escape his parent's home, to be sure. But when they'd died, having no other issue, he found himself a property owner in a part of the city described by those foul creatures who fell into the trade of as 'vibrant'. As a gut wound.

Sure, a Level 32 would hardly set the world alight - a little fire-based humour there - but if he kept his head down and ground out those last eight levels, he'd have any number of possibilities open for him at his Level 40 threshold.

At least, that had been the plan.

But then, following her meeting with Lord Ulton last night, the High Priestess recalled him to the Temple and informed him that his service would not be required when she stepped up to the Second Floor.

He had stood, stunned for a moment. He was sure he must have misheard.

But those blue eyes had stared, implacably, back at him. No, there had been no mistake. After ten years of diligent, capable service, he was being "let go".

"I am sure you understand, Aintra."

He hadn't and had said so.

"You couldn't honestly have thought you would join me on the Second Floor?"

He had. But there did not seem to be much point arguing. There rarely was with the High Priestess.

She had gone on to explain that it had been explained to her that it would be beneath her dignity to have her major-domo be sub-Level 40. "I’m told there are standards, you understand? I did my best to plead your case. If I thought you had it in you to blitz those last eight levels, I'd be more than willing to boost you. But I think we both know how unlikely that prospect would be."

Aintra had thought that a little harsh. Sure, he had not kept up with his mistress's prolific pace of levelling over the last decade, but, then again, neither did his role in maintaining her diary and ensuring she was where she was supposed to be, open that many avenues to gather XP. On the other hand, her habit of incinerating anyone who irritated her had given her any number of free levels.

It had never occurred to him that the growing gap between them would be a matter of shame for her. Or to Gravalk, who he presumed had made the final decision. Heat blossomed in his cheeks as he walked, remembering how the interview had concluded.

"If you could ensure your notes are left in good order for your successor, I would appreciate it." And then she had turned from him as if dismissing him from her mind. In a way, he imagined she had done just that. Gianna d'Avec was nothing if not relentlessly focused.

Aintra's usual route was to cross Beldam and make use of the portal that stood against the Fountain of Youth. There were more convenient transportation hubs available to him, but the short walk from his house to this spot had been as much part of his routine as anything else these past few years.

He rested his hand on the lip of the portal, ignoring the queue that immediately started to build up behind him. It appeared a large number of people were making their 'shamble of shame' back to their own, more salubrious, parts of Soar.

Eight levels until Level 40 was not insurmountable, of course. There was no prospect of him reaching that standard before, if rumour was true, the High Priestess displaced Mdamic on the Second Floor. However, given time and focus, he would be able to make that journey. Of course, he had not put any of his Progress Points into Skills which lent themselves to the quick gathering of XP. were, by their nature, somewhat passive folk. The Skills he did possess were focused on recall, writing and the manipulation of data. It was not a skillset to attract many recruiters to his door.

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Neither, he had to acknowledge, was he likely to be much use in any of the Dungeons beneath the city. He hadn't been to those parts of the Lower City in years but was fairly sure Raiding Parties were not crying out for admin support. He supposed he could always book a month-long place in a Level 20 Dungeon and just grind out the required XP that way, but he doubted he had that sort of single-minded dedication. If he did, he wouldn't have become a in the first place.

"Will you fucking shit or get off the pot!" a voice came from behind him.

Aintra half-turned and saw a growing queue of hungover - and worse - people behind him.

"My apologies. Wool gathering."

"Gather it somewhere fucking else."

Quite. He triggered the portal.

*

The Third Floor of the Celestial Temple was deserted at this time of morning; its massive open space lit by the slowly rising sun. The giant stained-glass windows in the reception areas bathed the floors in a kaleidoscope of light that, on a typical day, he found quite lovely. Today, he was struck by how gaudy it all was. Oddly, there was a strange mistiness in the air as if something damp had been left in the laundry for too long.

He pushed out a soft breeze of hot air to remove the scent of mould and connected with all the locks to the various chambers that spanned off this central space. Aintra had been very proud of the Secret Keeper Skill he had been gifted by Gravalk when he reached Level 30. It allowed him to add up to thirty different lock patterns to a template and then unlock them all with a thought.

He was unsure what use such a talent would be in the brave new world of his impending unemployment. Perhaps a life of crime beckoned? Somehow, he did not quite see it.

He noted that Gianna's chamber was one of those that he had unlocked and frowned. He could not remember the last time he had arrived in the building before her. Of course, it was spectacularly unusual that the High Priestess had chosen to reside other than in the Temple itself. Still, having made that choice, d'Avec was never less than fastidious of being at work before Aintra arrived each morning.

He was just crossing to light the candles that covered the walls and ceiling when the Sending Stone on his desk began to pulse. That was also exceptionally unusual. What a morning he was having. He moved to sit and then directed mana to the stone, unleashing a rather hysterical elderly woman's face to hover before him.

"It's Mylaf speaking. I'm the High Priestess's housekeeper."

Aintra nodded, feeling his irritation rise. He had spent many unprofitable hours liaising with this woman. Mylaf was of the opinion nothing mattered more than her mistress being fed and watered at appropriate moments. He had yet to find a way to convince her such concerns were lower down Gravalk's priorities than she apparently thought.

"Yes, Mylaf. It's Aintra Webber. Have you forgotten to activate the reciprocal image again?

There was a pause, and then the eyes of the woman focused on him. "Oh, Mr Weber. I'm so glad to reach you. Is our mistress there?"

Aintra's irritation increased to being really quite cross indeed. This, for him, was close to berserker fury. He was a reasonably calm soul, especially for someone touched by fire, but he thought it something of a stretch for a to seek kinship with him with the choice of the word 'our'. Mylaf would never rise above Level 15, no matter how diligently she ran the High Priestess's household.

But, then again, neither would she ever be summarily dismissed, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of his head. He quickly pushed that thought away.

"No, Mylaf. I'm the only person here."

The levels of worry in the voice increased. "But she's not here, Mr Weber. She never came home last night."

"I'm sure this is not uncommon, Mylaf. It is not clear to me why you felt the need to call."

Mylaf was almost wailing. "She would never have not come home without telling me. That's not happened once for as long as I've known her. And I was with her parents for years before . . . well, all the nastiness. She took me on straight after that. And always was home before midnight all those years. I've just checked her bed. It's not been slept in."

Aintra sighed. Gravalk save him from anxious women. "I can assure you, she isn't here, Mylaf. The portal was secured when I arrived, and her chamber door was locked. But bear with me; I will just go and check."

He waved his hand at the sending stone and pulled out his mana. No sense in wasting energy while he went on this damned fool quest.

He stood and crossed to d'Avec's receiving chamber and as expected, found the secondary tamper lock engaged. He activated Secret Keeper again, enjoying the moment of pressure as the security measure tried to resist him. But, as always, it popped open, and he was able to swing the heavy double doors ajar.

Then he stopped for a moment, his air stolen from him.

What he saw in the chamber was so alien that he stood gawking for several seconds before the images started to make sense.

The windows at the back of the chamber were flung open, and the floor was covered in water, which was already pretty remarkable. If there was one thing everyone knew about the High Priestess of Gravalk, it was that water was not to be brought into her presence.

But then, Aintra reflected, looking at the dismembered corpse of his ex-mistress, he imagined being a little damp was the least of her worries right now.

Aintra moved forward, trying to make sense of the sight before him. Gianna's torso was occupying the Scarlet Throne that dominated the centre of the room, but all her extremities had been detached from her body and spread across the chamber.

Trails of blood ran the length of the floor, from limb to body, giving them the impression of strings being connected to a puppet. It took Aintra a moment to locate d'Avec's head, but looking up, he saw it resting amongst the candles of the chandelier.

Then, remembering himself - somehow - he quickly crossed to close the windows, locking them, and exited through the double doors. He engaged Secret Keeper and then returned to the Sending Stone. "Everything is fine, Mylaf. The High Priestess is just very busy this morning. She'll be in touch shortly." He cleared the stone with a wave before the could respond.

What was he to do? In less than a bell, all manner of priests and acolytes would flood this floor. What was he supposed to tell them?

His hand wavered over the Sending Stone for a moment. He needed to alert . . . .someone as to what had happened. By her very nature, Gianna d'Avec had few people who would mourn her passing. Much less would be inclined to seek to avenge it.

Then, a thought spiralled clear of his fog of confusion. There had been all that unpleasantness in the Manufacturing District a few years back, hadn't there? Some prominent industrialists had lost his head, and the Security Services had pounced to clear it up with little fanfare and even littler press.

What was the name of that strange man who had led that investigation?

Perfect Recall snapped into being, and a face and a name swam into focus.

Aintra reactivated the sending stone and pulled out a message.

"Calling Inspector Lowe? Inspector Lowe, please."