For reasons Karolen couldn’t quite put her finger on, she had found herself suddenly in charge of a large, milling mass of utterly bewildered Curators—some with eyes wide, others with mouths gaping—stumbling around, unsure whether to stare at the horrific scene or flee from it entirely.
"Just get them out of here!" Nuroon’s voice was strained as he stared at his filthy hand in utter disbelief. He was looking at it as though it were someone else’s.
For a brief second, Karolen assumed those instructions were meant for either Culloden or Kregg, the two others standing nearby—after all, they were the ones with the more immediate stake in the situation. But when neither of them budged, she felt the cold pressure of responsibility settle over her shoulders.
The other Curators were panicking. Even seasoned professionals like these weren’t immune to the horror unfolding before them. Her instincts kicked in. "All right, listen up!" she barked, putting every ounce of command she could muster into her voice and moving into Big Sister mode. "Move it, people! The staffroom. Now! Quick, no time to waste!"
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dignified. But with the Curators staring at her like a herd of panicked sheep, it was the best she could do. Nuroon stood off to one side, still cradling his hand as if it were an alien object, too horrified to offer any further direction.
If the scene hadn't been so grim, she might have found some small satisfaction in watching Nuroon struggle to regain even a semblance of his usual authoritarian presence. But for now, the only thing that mattered was keeping the Curators from losing their heads entirely.
Come on! Move! Now!" she repeated.
And then, as if by magic, the Curators started to shuffle toward the door.
It helped that, other than Preece and Harker—who had somewhat of a ring-side seat to the horror that had unfolded—none of the others really knew what had happened. They had heard the crash of the falling sarcophagus lid and Kregg's subsequent explanation, but they were abuzz with questions Karolen was not anxious to answer.
Harker had, somewhat in a daze, taken the lead toward the 'staffroom.'
Karolen couldn’t help but notice, even amidst the lingering nausea and shock from what she’d just witnessed, that the room before her seemed out of place—far too polished, far too grand for a mere functional museum staff space.
The light that filtered through the giant windows glinted off furniture that could have been plucked from some forgotten aristocrat’s estate—rich leather armchairs, mahogany tables, and impeccably arranged decor that whispered of wealth and power in subtle, almost insidious ways.
She had seen plenty of the grim, utilitarian spaces that dotted the backrooms of various offices and institutions throughout Soar—places that smelt of stale coffee and frayed uniforms—but this?
This was something else entirely. The luxurious velvet curtains draped across the windows, the gold-rimmed glasses filled with a selection of well-aged liquor, the polished oak shelves lined with rare books and artifacts—it looked more like the parlor of some exclusive Gentleman's Club than a place for overworked, underpaid Curators to take their lunch break.
Of course, Karolen'd never been invited to one of those clubs herself—she wasn’t the sort who made the cut for that particular circle. But she’d worked for enough high-profile clients to know the type. The ones who liked to remind you, with a subtle tilt of their chin or an offhand comment, just how much money and influence they had.
"Impressive, isn’t it?" Preece mumbled, his voice still shaky, though his eyes were fixed with a strange, distant look. He seemed to have shaken off some of his earlier shock, though Karolen noticed the tremor in his hands as he reached for a glass of something amber-colored, perhaps hoping it would steady him.
Karolen didn’t answer immediately. She was too busy mentally cataloguing the absurdity of the situation. Here they were, surrounded by all the trappings of power and excess, while a fellow Curator’s mangled remains were still fresh in their minds.
“Yeah, it’s very nice,” she finally said, her tone flat. “Almost a bit too nice, don't you think?”
Preece’s eyes flicked up to her, and for a second, he seemed startled by her words. But then the fog in his mind seemed to lift, and he nodded, though it wasn’t in agreement. It was more as if he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine.
"It’s relatively recent," he said, though Karolen could hear the unease creeping into his voice. "Since the Director secured enhanced funding. For the dig."
She raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn't comment further.
As Karolen glanced around the room again, the sick feeling from before hadn’t quite subsided. If anything, it had deepened, tangled up with her suspicion. There was something too neat about this place. Too well-crafted, too... perfect. As though someone was trying to give the impression that everything was under control, even as the cracks began to show.
How had Grackle Nuroon found access to this much gold?
But then what had just happened to the young, blonde Curator caught up with her, and she felt somewhat ashamed at the intrusive thought.
The Curators, none of them with a level higher than the mid-teens, had gathered in a tight, nervous knot at the centre of the room. Their eyes flicked between Preece and Harker, the two men who had been closest to the scene, but neither seemed willing to share much, their silence only adding fuel to the simmering tension that hung in the air.
A few muttered snippets of conversation and hesitant glances passed between them, but the unspoken truth was clear: none of them wanted to be the one to speak first.
Karolen, who had been observing the dynamics of the room, could feel the pressure building. Her eyes flicked to the refreshment table, a welcome distraction, and with a forced cheerfulness she didn’t feel, she stepped forward.
“I could do with a coffee,” she said brightly, forcing a smile. “I don’t know about anyone else!”
The effect was immediate.
The room, which had been murmuring in its own little world, suddenly snapped into focus. Every eye turned toward her, as though her voice had been a switch, flicking on the light and forcing the room to acknowledge her presence for the first time since she’d entered.
The Curators’ collective gaze seemed to weigh her, like they were sizing up something far less friendly than an Auditor in their midst.
“Coffee? I mean… what? Who are you?” said a squat, dark man with thick lips. He looked more like a bruiser than a museum employee. "What were you doing in the vault?" he added, the accusation hanging unspoken between the words.
She could feel the temperature of the room shift, the suspicion hanging in the air like a fog.
“She’s the Auditor, stupid. Can’t you read?”
All eyes swung upward, drawn to her stats now glowing above her head in unmistakable clarity—her Level, Class, the power she wielded in this space.
The room stilled like a frozen lake and the conversations died in an instant
Karolen couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of satisfaction. It wasn’t every day that she could halt a room full of people with nothing more than the display of her rank.
But instead of the usual power trip, she found herself disarmed by the uncomfortable quiet that followed. These people didn’t respect her authority. Not really. She was an outsider here, and even her position in the system couldn’t erase the fact that she was now a witness to something ugly—and perhaps dangerous.
“I actually prefer to be known as ‘Karolen’ rather than ‘Auditor,’ though. How about the rest of you?”
As they worked their way around the group, each giving her a short introduction, Karolen thought that, by hook or by crook, she seemed to be doing a decent job of calming things down.
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Until, that is, they reached the young man with the green spectacles, whose hands were shaking uncontrollably, his face ashen. He didn’t look like a man who had just witnessed a tragedy—he looked like a man who had been irreversibly broken by it.
"It melted her!" he suddenly shrieked, his voice reaching a pitch that made Karolen wince. "It was waiting for her in the sarcophagus! The second Isadora climbed in, it started to eat her!"
There was a terrible, stunned silence that hung in the air for a moment. Then, as if they had all been holding their breath, the voices began to spill out from the clustered Curators.
"Bard Kregg said it was an accident…"
"The lid fell on her. We all saw it happen. One moment it was floating, and the next—splat."
"You lot didn’t tie it tightly enough. Nuroon will have your hide for this!"
"It wasn’t me who brought the ropes, was it? If anything—"
"Stop!"
All turned to look at the older Curator, Preece, who was standing a little distance from the rest of the group. Karolen wondered at that and, again, was interested in the story behind what she assumed must have been a change of Class late in life. However, regardless of what had led him to the decision, she was glad he was there right now. The others seemed to have a natural deference to him.
"I know what Bard Kregg said, but Isadora was dead long before the lid collapsed down upon her. None of you who were involved in holding it up need to worry. You weren't to blame. Both Harker and I will testify to that if need be."
"Testify!" One of the other Curators let out a little burst of laughter, his voice strained, like someone trying too hard to sound casual. "Why should anyone need to testify?"
"You do understand that one of your colleagues has been killed?" Karolen said. "Regardless of whether it was crushed to death or... by other means," she added, fighting the bile rising in her throat at the memory of Isadora’s liquefied remains. "There will need to be an investigation. And if that doesn’t sink in, I’m happy to explain it to you again, slowly."
There was a brief pause before the Curator, the one who’d laughed, shifted uneasily on his feet. But he wasn’t the one who spoke next. That fell to a different voice, a little too quick, a little too defensive.
"Oh, I wouldn't have thought so. Old Grackle won’t stand for anyone sticking their nose into the workings of the museum. Especially not now," the woman said, almost flippantly, as though she was dismissing the very idea. "It's bad enough that the Trustees have insisted on an audit at this crucial time. Just as we’ve finally unearthed . . ."
The speaker's voice drifted away to silence as she realised to whom she was speaking. Karolen gave her a small, encouraging smile for them to continue, but it seemed that no more was going to be said about that particular matter.
A few of the other Curators were trying to encourage more details from Harker. None, Karolen noted, were attempting the same with Preece.
"But that's crazy. Why would there have been anything waiting in the casket?" one of the Curators asked, his voice edging toward panic.
"I don't know," Harker replied, "but there was! I could feel its presence in there. And it was waiting—waiting for Isadora to climb in before it struck!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Har," a woman snapped."As if anything would want to harm Isadora!"
"But it wasn't supposed to be Isadora who explored the sarcophagus, was it?" Harker said, his green-lensed glasses catching a faint gleam of the overhead light. "Culloden was scheduled to be the one to open it! We—" He hesitated, then pressed on, his words tumbling over themselves. "We jumped the gun because Izzy was so determined to get the first look. Especially after what was found in the first one!"
Karolen had any number of follow-up questions about Harker's words there but sensed now might not be the right time.
"So, what are you saying? That it wasn't an accident, that something wanted to kill Martha Culloden, but that you three blundered in first and interrupted it?!"
Karolen didn't catch who had asked that question, but she felt it was pretty damn on the nose. Especially as, at that precise moment, the door to the staffroom opened, and the Senior Preservationist slipped inside.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, her voice oddly flat, Karolen thought, "as I am sure you have all discussed, Curator Isadora passed away a short while ago. There are - " the ashen-faced woman paused, looking over the assembled group as if searching for a particular someone, before pressing on - "questions around what occurred. I am afraid to say that we have determined we will need to speak to Cuckoo House for them to look into what occurred."
The news was greeted with something akin to utter horror. In fact, Karolen thought, this was the most shocked the group of Curators had seemed since the death had occurred.
"But what of the exhibits, Senior Preservationist? What about the armour?"
Culloden offered a wan smile to the questioner, a stick-thin woman with massive black-framed glasses. "Director Nuroon and I have discussed the matter, and I am afraid we have determined that, as we expect any investigation will thoroughly compromise the area, we will need to purge all of the samples."
A murmur of discontent rumbled around the room, but Culloden stopped it with a raised hand. "I understand the disappointment this will cause, but a young woman has lost her life and uncovering what took place must take priority."
Karolen couldn't help but think that the woman's words and tone did not quite match up.
"Thus, I must ask you all to wipe any and all records you have made since we opened the first sarcophagus yesterday morning."
At a further gasp from those in the room, Culloden waved her hand, and a rack of blue vials appeared on a table in the corner. "There are mana potions available - Director Nuroon has paid for these personally - and I must ask that you each perform Cleansing the Canvas before the investigators arrive. It would not be appropriate for anything we have uncovered to get into the wrong hands. We can restart our research anew once Cuckoo House closes the case, and all interlopers are removed from the sacred space."
Karolen's eyes widened at the outpouring of mana as the whole room effectively performed a massive memory wipe. Well, not quite the whole room, Karolen thought. There was a certain middle-aged Curator whose gaze was not replaced by a look of incomprehension once the Skill presumably triggered.
"Mana potions, Ladies and Gentlemen. And thank you for your support in this matter," Martha said.. "The Director is very grateful. As am I." Her tone carried just enough steel to keep any immediate objections at bay.
The Senior Preservationist then approached Karolen with a faint smile. She placed a hand lightly on Karolen's forearm, her touch a little too familiar for the moment. "We obviously cannot insist you clear your own memory of what you saw in the vault," she began, "but I have said that I will ask you to do so. As one woman to another."
Karolen felt her mouth twist into a grimace of distaste at the appeal, the phrasing far too pointed and manipulative for her liking. She shook her head firmly. "I cannot think that would be appropriate in any circumstances," she replied. "Quite apart from my own professional obligations, there are broader considerations here."
Culloden’s hand lingered for a moment before retreating. The Preservationist looked almost hurt, though Karolen doubted the emotion ran deep. "The Investigators from Cuckoo House will need witnesses to what took place. It would not be right for them to hear only from you, Director Nuroon, and Bard Kregg, especially now that the other witnesses have wiped their memories."
Culloden’s lips thinned, her gaze flickering toward the group of Curators huddled across the room, most of whom were avoiding her eyes entirely. The decision to erase their recollections of the vault incident hadn’t been theirs—Karolen was sure of that. It was another layer of control, another neatly tied bow on whatever narrative Nuroon and his cronies were planning to present to the outside world.
“You must see the necessity,” Culloden said quietly. “The artefacts we’re dealing with here... they’re beyond anything most of the city can imagine. If word of them gets out, the consequences could be catastrophic for everyone.”
"Catastrophic for whom?" Karolen asked.
Culloden opened her mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she took a step back, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. "You’ll do what you feel is right, of course," she said, her voice brittle. "But I would caution against underestimating the Director’s reach."
"I’m well aware of his reach," Karolen replied, her tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. "That’s why it’s all the more important I maintain a clear record of events.”
If Nuroon thought she could be swayed so easily, he had grossly underestimated her resolve. Whatever secrets this place held, Karolen intended to uncover them—and not even a direct appeal to her sense of "sisterhood" was going to get in her way.
"Oh, and please don't misunderstand. It is not just junior colleagues who will be wiping their memories of the work of the last day. All of the Senior Staff will be doing so, too. It is a massive inconvenience, as I am sure you will appreciate. We can hardly afford to lose the work at this sensitive moment. The only reason I have not done so as of yet is simply in order to pass on this message to you. I had suggested to the Director that you would not acquiesce in this matter, thus, can I assume you will be available to greet the investigators when they arrive?"
A light blossomed around the Senior Preservationalist's eyes, and then her expression went wholly slack.
Karolen looked around the staffroom, shocked at what was taking place. All around her, men and women were looking at each other with quiet bafflement about what was happening.
"I'm sorry, should you be here?"
The Auditor turned to look into the eyes of the older Curator, Preece. There was not a flicker of recognition in his expression, even though she was sure he hadn't actually wiped his memory.
"Yes," she smiled back. "It is perfectly okay for me to be here. The Director has asked me to greet some visitors he invited."
Preece nodded, seemingly happy with her reply, and moved off to speak to the green-spectacled Curator, who was obviously much calmer now that any memory of what had occurred had left his mind.
Karolen was horrified to realise that, once the investigators from Cuckoo House arrived, she would be the only person in the building who was even aware a death had taken place.