Even with a Skill that boosted her Stamina to a level that could have rivalled a marathon runner, Karolen found herself struggling to keep pace with the wiry little man ahead of her.

Nuroon moved with surprising urgency, his steps quick and light, skipping effortlessly through the maze of hallways like a shadow weaving through the night. Each time she thought she had him back within her arm's reach, he darted around another corner, pushing through doorways with a speed that defied his advanced age.

Karolen did her best to track their path—conscious of the labyrinthine structure of the Museum—but every twist and turn felt like another knot in the tangled web of corridors. From her research, she felt like she knew the Museum like the back of her hand, but the way Nuroon moved, with such reckless abandon and purpose, made her question whether she'd be able to retrace her steps should he decide to put even more distance between them.

The thought made her stomach tighten with real concern. If Nuroon picked up the pace much more, she’d genuinely be lost. And she had no confidence she could navigate the maze of hallways and hidden rooms on her own.

That thought - coupled with a pertinent memory of those unexplained vanishings of previous Auditors - caused Karolen to find further reserves of speed to keep Nuroon close. She was, thus, moving at quite a pace when turning a blind corner, she was brought to a crashing halt by the sudden, unexpected appearance of a staircase leading up to the first floor.

"Do mind your step, Ms. Mehin," came the sarcastic drawl from above.

Karolen paused, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She needed a moment to reign in the irritation that was quickly turning into something harder. This was supposed to be a measured investigation, not some chase through the bowels of a dusty old museum.

But Nuroon had a way of making everything feel like a game—his game—and Karolen was already sick of it.

"Director Nuroon!" she called. It came out sharper than she’d intended, but in that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for it. Every second wasted chasing after him only stoked the fire of her bad temper. She wasn’t in the mood for his games, not when she had a job to do.

Especially this job.

"Yes, Ms. Mehin?" he replied, emphasising the sibilance of 'Ms.' as if he were in the middle of transforming into a giant python. Which, as far as she knew, was something of which he was potentially capable of doing.

To Karolen's mind, there were far too many unanswered questions about the Museum Director’s Skillset. All records she’d sought about the previous Director—a woman who had mysteriously vanished in a fire of uncertain origins—had conveniently been destroyed.

No one had ever bothered to look into it, and no one had dared to press the current occupant for any details on his own abilities either. It was an odd, glaring omission, but it fit the picture all too well. A man like Nuroon didn’t appear to need to play by the usual rules; he made them up as he went along. The fact that no one had demanded a look at his Stat Sheet only confirmed that.

This lack of transparency, this air of deliberate obfuscation, was precisely why every single person Karolen had consulted about this audit had told her, in no uncertain terms, to pack up and run.

Well, it was too late for that now, wasn’t it?

“How about we agree on something right out of the gate, Director Nuroon?” Karolen said. “I’ll refer to you by your professional title, and you will afford me the same courtesy.”

Nuroon cocked his head, looking every bit the skeletal figure of a defeathered vulture. His smile stretched too wide—and that was a smile Karolen could have easily gone her whole life without ever seeing again. "Ah, so you're one of those young women?"

“One of what women, Director?” Karolen asked as she started up the stairs.

By the time she reached the top step and stood next to him, she realised with a jolt that she was looking down at him. It was strange, almost comical, how a man who commanded so much influence in the world could seem so physically small in her presence.

Just one word from him, one whisper, was supposed to make or break lives—but here, in this moment, he felt as small and insignificant as the dust gathering in the corners of the museum.

"Oh, you know," he said, making a complicated gesture with his spidery fingers, "all iron knickers, and affirmative action and having it all until your biological clock explodes, and then it's babies, babies all the time."

Karolen opened her mouth to give an outraged reply but then she closed it, smiling broadly.

Truculent and misanthropic, certainly, but Nuroon was not known for his casual misogyny. That he was choosing to play that card in their first meeting suggested he thought it would benefit him somehow.

Maybe her arrival had him more rattled than he appeared?

Mindful of this, she adopted her most sincere, patient tone. "I think, Director, it would serve us both if we left consideration of my knickers for another occasion. Perhaps our time would be better spent if you were to show me to the office from which I will work during my time with you?"

Something flashed over Nuroon's face, but Karolen was unable to properly read the expression before he turned her back on her and flung open the single door before them. "Quite. I was thinking of putting you in here."

Karolen kept her face meticulously still as she regarded a room that, clearly, the better-quality brooms had already rejected.

In her experience, audits tended to go one of two ways. Either the recipient could not do enough for you - coffee, cake and you were based in the CEO's office - or you were made to feel as unwelcome as a split condom at an orgy.

It appeared Nuroon had decided to go all in on the latter option.

"I might suggest, Director, that most people feel it appropriate to provide me with at least a chair. Some even break the bank and make arrangements for a table?"

"Really? Strange and mysterious are the ways of those of Soar. Are you saying this room will not be suitable for your purposes? In that case, as I am afraid space is at a premium with the new exhibitions due to open shortly. It sounds like it might be best if we reschedule. How are you fixed for this time next year?"

Karolen held Nuroon's reptilian gaze. "No, not at all. I was merely musing aloud," she said. "You see, it's a curious thing about my process: the poorer my working conditions, the slower I tend to work. Why," she added, peering into the tiny cupboard with studied indifference, "I could easily see this inspection stretching out to three, maybe even four weeks, given these circumstances."

*

Funnily enough, a more suitable base of operations opened up almost immediately.

This far bigger office had not only a table and chair but also running coffee and a spectacular view of the inner courtyard. Karolen’s gaze swept over the almost magical grandeur of the gardens below, the neatly manicured trees and lush greenery stretching out in a verdant panorama.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

A tight knot of suspicion formed in her gut as she considered the glaring omission from the museum's records. There was not a single mention of the gardeners—or any maintenance costs for the upkeep of such an extravagant display.

This was particularly telling, given the generous corporate ‘Green’ grants available to businesses in Soar, an easy handout from the Mayor’s office, where any half-decent promise of sustainable living could win votes. Soar’s electorate would likely endorse a scrotum with a moustache painted on it if it came with vague assurances about eco-friendly initiatives.

So, the fact that Nuroon hadn’t gone to the trouble of securing such funds to cover the maintenance of his little personal jungle seemed downright suspicious. The museum’s lush gardens would be a costly asset to maintain, and yet here they were, flourishing without a single penny accounted for in the books.

Where was the man finding the money?

However, before she had a chance to think much about that, two new faces appeared at her door, accompanied by the Director, and insisted she accompany them on a 'tour of the facility'.

The younger of the two, Martha Culloden, was the Senior Preservationist, the member of staff charged with safeguarding and restoring the museum’s exhibits, both magical and mundane.

Karolen knew her by reputation, and judging by the tight smile and brittle laugh Martha greeted her with, the knowledge was undoubtedly mutual.

Martha’s role in the workings of Soar Museum was crucial—her hands had touched more priceless artefacts than most could even dream of, using both mana-based and traditional techniques to preserve the treasures. But Karolen could see it in her eyes: the tension, the nervous flick of a gaze that suggested she knew exactly why Karolen was here.

If Soar Museum was the trove it claimed to be, then Martha would be the one responsible for protecting the vaults. But if, as Karolen suspected, the museum had far more relics on paper than it did in actual inventory, Culloden would be the first one standing in the firing line. Her professional life hung by a thread that was tied directly to the audit's outcome, which made her presence here necessary—expected, even.

But that wasn’t the case for the second visitor standing beside her.

The older man, older by far, really didn’t need to be there. He stood in the back, arms folded, looking less concerned about the audit and more about whether or not he’d need to make room for a nap before the whole thing was over.

His eyes were hidden beneath the shadow of a ridiculous fedora, but Karolen could feel his gaze on her. And something about that gave her the distinct impression that he was no accidental visitor. He was there for a reason—one that she hadn’t yet pieced together.

Kelvin Kregg, the museum's Public Relations Bard, was very much an unwelcome addition to proceedings.

Karolen might have expected to have to deal with the smooth-talking man in the cheap suit at the very end of her investigation when there was spinning around her findings to be done, but she couldn't for the life of her see why Nuroon had chosen to put him in her path right now.

The tour, if it could even be called that, was more a forced march than anything resembling a guided experience. Director Nuroon was several paces ahead, his brisk strides punctuated by the occasional hiss of a comment about the exhibits.

The words themselves seemed less like information and more like an effort to dismiss the displays with the same casual contempt he treated everything else. He barely gave her time to take in a full glance before he was off again, moving like a man trying to outrun something he feared, though Karolen couldn't quite figure out what that might be.

Beside her, Martha Culloden did her best to offer the sort of commentary that might temper Nuroon’s dismissive commentary. She murmured, her voice soft and almost apologetic, about the provenance of the items, where they’d been acquired from, what steps had been taken to preserve them.

The woman was being professional enough, but there was something off about her behaviour, a sense of rehearsed placidity masking deeper unease. The woman was walking a fine line—clearly trying to prove her worth while staying out of Nuroon’s way, all too aware of the storm brewing around the museum’s finances.

Then there was Kregg.

The man who’d slipped into the blind spot of her right shoulder, always just a half-step behind, always just present enough to make his presence known. He wasn’t contributing anything of substance to the conversation, but, then again, he didn’t need to. His occasional 'hmms' of approval whenever they passed a particularly famous or impressive work of art felt more like a reminder that he was there.

Karolen had no doubt that his participation in this little circus had a purpose far beyond simply playing the part of an innocent bystander.

But it wasn’t the chatter of Nuroon, Culloden, or Kregg that had her nerves stretched tight.

No, it was the feeling that, with every turn they took down another narrow hallway, with every step they took deeper into the heart of the museum, she was being funneled into some preordained confrontation.

There was something about the way the Director moved, the way Culloden seemed to shrink against the walls, and Kregg’s deliberate positioning behind her that made Karolen feel like a prisoner. They were all closing in, the walls narrowing with each step, until the only way out was forward.

"But of course, it is not those minor fripperies that are going to be the focus of your audit, are they?" Nuroon said, pulling up short in front of a giant bronze door and pressing his hand against it, channelling his mana to open the lock. "The Great Hall," Nuroon announced, pushing the heavy door open with a theatrical flourish, his back arched with a kind of self-congratulatory pride, "home to the greatest collection of magical artefacts in the known world."

He paused at the threshold, as if he were revealing some monumental truth. His hands spread wide, as if offering the very essence of history itself to her, and Karolen fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"I flatter myself," the Director continued, "that if the Celestial Temple is the heart of modern Soar, then what lies beyond this door is where the history of our civilisation—and perhaps even our future—may be found."

His gaze lingered on the grand expanse before them, and Karolen, despite herself, couldn't help but be impressed. The room beyond the door was vast, cavernous in a way that could swallow a small army without a second thought. Shelves upon shelves of relics, each glinting under the dim, atmospheric light, beckoned with promises of power, secrets, and lost knowledge.

But here was something too grandiose about it all. Something that didn’t sit right. The room she was looking into felt like a mausoleum, not a vault of history. Nuroon seemed to bask in that atmosphere, as though he alone held the keys to the past—and maybe even the future, as he claimed.

"Bravo!" Kregg said enthusiastically, clapping his hands in an oddly sealion-like manner. Karolen genuinely could not understand what he was adding here.

But, right now, that didn't matter. What was in this room was what she was here to explore.

"The Trustees haven't been able to access the Great Hall in almost half a year," Liando Verlan had said. "It may well be that the reasons we’ve been given for rejecting our requests for supervisory visits are legitimate. Structural repairs, for instance. But… there’s a part of me that suspects the truth is more complication than that. We suspect that Grackle has unearthed something he does not wish us to see."

Verlan was no fool; neither was Karolen, for that matter. Both of them knew that Nuroon had a way of making things disappear—both artefacts and the truth—whenever it suited his purposes. If he was keeping something hidden in the Great Hall, then it would be worth finding out what.

"Structural repairs, sure," Verlan continued, "but I wonder… repairs to the building or repairs to something hidden beneath it? Because from where I stand, it seems like the cracks might run a lot deeper than the stonework."

The Captain of Industry had leant forward then, and the intensity of her expression had struck Karolen. "It goes without saying that Grackle Nuroon is corrupt. This is Soar, and none of us are so naive as to believe anything else could possibly be the case. However, whilst - over many years - we have turned a blind eye to his peccadilloes, it is our opinion that something, of late, has changed. And we are certain it has to do with the artefacts within the Great Hall. I couldn't care less if you find he's embezzled a king's ransom in gold to decorate his fucking toilet. But I want to know what is happening with the relics in the Great Hall."

"Are you coming, my dear?"

At the sound of that scratchy voice, Karolen's mind was dragged back to the present, meeting the eyes of the Director, his head cocked in that strange, animalistic way.

There was a sudden, unwelcome pressure on her back, and Karolen felt Kregg’s large hand nudge her forward through the door. The man was so close, she could feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, his words dripping with forced joviality.

"I hope you know what an honour this is, Auditor Mehin," Kregg said, far too loud in the narrow corridor. "It’s a rare thing, indeed, for anyone to get access to the inner sanctum of Soar's Museum. Why, I’ve heard it said some people would kill just to get a peek at what’s behind this door."

The last part of his statement hung in the air a moment too long, the casual threat woven between the lines like a well-worn thread in his cheap suit. Karolen felt a flicker of irritation, but she masked it quickly. She’d learned a long time ago that underestimating people like Kregg only ever led to trouble.

The implication wasn’t lost on her.

Further narrative commentary here on the nature of irony and the Law of Sod seems somewhat redundant.