“I really don’t like this.” I mutter as I hand Ashsong’s sword to the guard at the weapons check desk, belt coiled around it. I slip the two knives I keep snug in the small of my back out of their sheathes and set them down, then, after a moment, I remember the dagger in my boot and stoop to slip that free too. “Doesn’t feel right.”

“You heard ‘em.” Art’s got the sword and long knife I gave him bundled up in his hands now, ready to pass that over too. “We got no choice if we wanna go in. I mean you’re welcome to head back out an’ join Krakka an’ Big Man if you’d be more comfortable.”

Setting my dagger down, I take a deep breath and start a slow count to ten in my head. I look at the guard, who took us all by surprise when we first came in since he’s conspicuous without his helm and mask just like Captain Ceinog. He’s very young, looks to be trying to grow a beard but so far all he can manage is a fine layer of soft down, as carrot orange as the thick mop of curls on top of his head, the sides and back shorn almost sheer to the scalp. When he sees me looking he picks up my dagger and lays it in the waiting tray with the rest of my weapons, then sets it all in the waiting slot in the rack behind before picking up a small paper chit and pencilling a number onto it.

“Please keep this, I won’t be allowed to give these back to you without it.” He holds it out, eyes flickering quickly away from my gaze, and I’m surprised someone so large and otherwise intimidating can seem so shy.

I snatch it from his hand a little more roughly than intended and he flinches back a little, but I stop myself before apologising. Instead I look down at the scrawled number on the chit, carefully folding it before I slip it into my most snug and secure pocket, mindful of what he just said. Art steps forward as the boy produces another tray and sets his bundle down in it, then starts what I’m expecting will be a long, laborious process in order to remove the great multitude of knives he’s carrying. Rolling my eyes, I step away from the desk and move to the nearest wall, leaning back into the smooth, cool marble.

“Yeah, I know, it’s tough.” Kesla drops back beside me, crossing her feet as she raises her arms and folds her hands behind her head. “This’ll be first time I ain’t had Hefdred in easy reach since … Thorin, must be five years. Even the Order seemed polite enough to trust we wouldn’t try an’ start some shit.”

Folding my arms tight across my chest, I make a quiet personal note of the fact that I’ve still got the two stilettos secreted in my bracers, just in case. I also noticed that, while Kesla happily gave up the rest of her blades, she stopped short at handing over the two knives she keeps hidden in her own boots. That makes me smile a little.

“Thankfully, we’re both smarter than that, aren’t we?” I cock a brow.

Kesla catches my meaning immediately, grinning with conspiratorial mischief. “What the Terrors don’t know won’t hurt ‘em, ‘less they give us cause. Imagine Art’s probably smart enough to think the same way we are.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see if we need to.” I turn back to watch as Art finally pushes the tray back to indicate he’s done, and the boy’s frowning down at the piled tray in front of him, clearly a little baffled by how much razor sharp steel one little bakaneko could carry without anyone actually noticing. Art, for his part, simply spreads his arms and shrugs, and I can’t help chuckling at how very innocent he seems. Kesla simply smiles, sighing a little as the young prowler accepts his chit and starts towards us.

Leaning close so I can be pretty sure Kesla will the only one hearing me, I whisper: “How many blades do you think he’s still got on him?”

“Knowing Art, at least two. Just in case, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” I nod, and that has Kesla chuckling. Art arches his brows, feigning innocence as he joins us but I’m sure knowing exactly what we’ve been discussing.

“That is a ball-ache.” Art looks back to watch as Yeslee puts down her unstrung bow with clear reluctance, then pulls the arrows out of her quiver rather than going through the rigmarole of taking off her cloak in order to unstrap it all. The whole time she gives the boy one hell of a stinkeye.

“We’re all part of the great Tektehran Empire now, Art.” Kesla’s words drip with clear sarcasm. “They say jump, we ask if it’s all right if we crack our heads open on the ceiling since it’s clearly too low in here for some of us.”

“They just want to deal the table according to their rules, so we have to play with a loaded deck.” I shrug when the others both turn their surprised gazes my way. “There’s a reason Min never wanted us to have anything to do with the Empire once the Occupation started. We might’ve been bandits, but we weren’t crooks. Not like this lot.”

Art cocks his head as he gives Kesla a look, and she just cocks a brow my way. “Sometimes you really surprise me, Shay?”

That makes me frown. “In a good way or bad?”

“Oh, this one’s very good.” Kesla lowers her arms and pushes away from the wall again as Yeslee finally walks over, glaring at her chit with clear dismay the whole time. Behind her, Gael steps up to the desk, and the boy simply waves her away, bowing his head humbly before they’ve even started unbuckling their sword-belt. They’re as genuinely surprised as I am.

“Well ain’t that a bitch?” Kesla mutters under her breath, a hint of pure white hot anger just under her perturbed expression.

“Clearly the Silver Order are held to a different standard than common sellswords.” I sigh, an idea that simply makes Kesla’s frown darken a little more.

“Apparently in their eyes, we’re just the help.” Art shrugs. “I mean what’d we actually expect, boss?”

The older dragonhalf wizard, Saxiros, clearly seems to be thinking along similar lines, regarding first the boy behind the desk, then Captain Ceinog, with clear disdain, as if he’s just uncovered a cockroach crawling around in his lunch. The Tektehran captain simply shrugs, laying one gauntleted hand on his chest as he bows and simpers, likely offering up sympathies which I’m sure area as hollow as anything he said outside.

Gael simply shoves past him without a word, making straight for us, and Tulen follows quickly behind, looking back at her superior and their young friend, Jathran, as she comes.

“I’m so sorry.” Gael sighs as they reach us, looking thoroughly crestfallen. “That was … completely out of order.”

“It’s cool. Really.” Kesla just shrugs, taking a deep breath as she clearly gets herself back in order again. “Clearly they’re just making a point, but even the Terrors ain’t stupid enough to fuck with the Order over something so insignificant as decorum.”

“But it’s a double standard.” Gael’s gripping her sword so tight at her side I’m sure her knuckles must be white under her gloves, and Tulen’s somewhat shamefaced as she looks down at her own. “If they’re so insistent on taking your weapons, then –”

“Let it go, it ain’t worth it. Don’t matter how you feel, Saxiros’ll definitely see it as a slight against the Order if you two make a point of being treated same as the rest of us, ‘specially after he got so hot under the collar about it.” Keska shrugs. “Look at it this way, you two still got your swords, just in case shit happens to go down while we’re here.”

“How likely you reckon that is then, boss?” Art wonders.

Kesla grins. “I highly doubt it. After all, we’re here on official Order business, right? What reason would anyone have for starting shit about that?”

We fall into a slightly troubled contemplative silence, although Yeslee’s clearly still stewing. Looking at her reminds me just how cramped the confines are in this little entrance alcove, essentially a slot in the front of the building opening out from the wide glass doors, while the ceiling’s mere inches above her head. To be honest, it’s probably a good thing Driver 8 stayed outside after all – if he had come with us he would’ve had to crawl in on all fours.

On the other side, though, it opens out significantly at the end of the passage. Beyond a railed balcony with stairs leading down on either side, I can make out a vast circular room with light pouring in from above, although from here I can’t really make out much more than the far wall. It seems to open out through more of those impossibly huge windows onto another, smaller veranda, while the clamour of some minor bustle filters up to us from below, so it sounds like, whatever’s down there, it’s something very busy indeed.

Someone’s emerging from below now, climbing the stairs on the left, and the moment they see us all clustered about they pause to take in the scene, examining Saxiros still in deep discussion with Ceinog, Jathran stood by and looking very uncomfortable now. It’s a woman, perhaps fifty, somewhat short and very curvy, I could almost mistake her for a dwarf if not for her comparatively small feet and hands and complete lack of facial hair. She’s dressed somewhat simply, her gown and robes soft and light and flowing, something that, to be honest, looks very comfortable in this climate, picked out in shades of black and dark slate grey and bright, gleaming silver. Her hair’s thick, rich jet black and artfully coiled into a loose knot at the back of her head, her somewhat cherubic face, as olive tanned as her arms and delicate hands, is sultry and very sexy, her eyes so dark they might as well be black. She smiles broadly as she turns to flow across the marble floor to us, clasping her hands loosely at her waist.

“Mistress Shoon? Master Foxtail?”

We snap to attention pretty much all at once, Kesla shoving her hair from her face as she stoops a little to offer her hand. “That’s us, Mistress …”

“Venne Daste, of House Kimahl.” She takes Kesla’s hand very delicately, barely pressing it, which provokes a frown as she tries to decide how to proceed. In the end she simply gives it a single light shake and lets go, and Daste simply seems to take it in her stride.

“Well met, Mistress Daste.” Gael steps forward and bows their head politely, and Kesla’s frown deepens as she realises this was the correct response. “We’re here on rather urgent business for –”

“Yes, of course, my dear.” Daste’s smile remains perfectly in place as she turns to face Saxiros and Jathran as they both approach, Ceinog hanging back now. “Master Saxiros, well met indeed, sir. A great pleasure to see you again.”

Art snorts a little at that, clearly fighting to stifle a laugh, which draws ireful looks from a few of the others. At least Saxiros doesn’t seem to notice, instead bowing respectfully as he laces his fingers together across his own middle to mirror her stance. “And you, Mistress Daste.”

“I’m afraid I must steal away your escort, as we have much to discuss.” The way she sighs seems entirely feigned. “Master Kell will be with you shortly, he simply has some unexpected business to take care of first. Regarding some unfortunate violence in the city just last night, I’m told.”

“Goodness, that’s terrible.” Saxiros frowns for a moment, then bows again. “But of course, Master Garent and I will be perfectly fine, you may keep them as long as is necessary. Captain Ceinog has promised us a well-appointed escort from his own garrison to see us safely to our lodgings once we’re done.” He turns to Kesla at last and gives her a particularly complex, pointed look, but I think I can judge its meaning as well as she does. Ceinog’s on the Order’s Shit List now, and he’s doing what he can to get off it again.

“That’s great, then. I expect we’ll see you both in passing … whenever.” Kesla cocks her head on the last word, and Saxiros nods in agreement. Jathran simply frowns for a moment, then looks at Gael as realisation seems to dawn.

“We’ll see you soon.” Gael promises, Tulen nodding along.

“Of course.” He brushes his hand back over his hair, clearly unsure exactly how to react at the moment and scrabbling for familiar affection. “Take care.”

“We will.” Gael nibbles their lip a little before they catch themselves, setting their jaw as they regain their composure. “Same to you.”

Unclasping her hands, Daste gestures towards the room beyond. “If you would be so kind?”

Nodding, Kesla looks at me, then Gael, who seems to catch her meaning well enough. When she starts walking Daste quickly falls into step beside her, and I jump to follow as Gael does the same. Looking back, I see Tulen pausing for a moment, seeming reluctant to just leave Jathran without a word, but after waving to him she falls into step behind Art and Yeslee.

Daste leads us to the balcony and turns left, heading back down the same way she just came. The room finally comes into view as we emerge from the passage and the light from above hits immediately, afternoon sun pouring in through a vast skylight paned with more of that impossibly huge glass. I’m still baffled by it, most of the glass I’ve ever come across comes in little panes no more than five or six inches across, so windows tend to be made up of several small leaded squares of the stuff. A single sheet of the size I keep seeing must cost a tiny fortune all on its own, I can’t begin to fathom how expensive it must be to glaze this whole place. The way Art’s goggling up at it, he clearly shares my sentiment.

Down below are several long desks set out in rows throughout the room with dozens of clerks working at them, or moving back and forth, passing papers between each station in a constant flow. As we descend the curving stairs, I realise that, while plenty are working with pen and ink from little wells built into their desks, every station has a strange device set in its centre, looking like a strange, boxy metal beetle. As we reach the bottom I can’t help myself, I need to take a closer look, so I go to the nearest clerk as they set to work at one. Art’s close behind me, clearly sharing my fascination.

After cranking a sheet of paper onto a roller inside of it, the clerk settles forward on his stool, adjusts a pair of spectacles perched on his nose, and starts to tap away at the selection of strange shiny buttons mounted across the front of the device. With each press of a finger he pushes down with a loud snapping sound, which seems to accompany a shift in the roller and, inexplicably, the appearance of an inky black letter on the paper. The speed with which he’s powering these letters out is startling too, his fingers seeming to dance across the buttons almost faster than I can really comprehend. Then the roller reaches its end with a startling metallic ping and the clerk cranks a little lever on the side of the device before pushing the roller back to the beginning, instantly pecking out another line directly beneath the last.

“Gods, that’s amazing.” I mutter, mostly to myself, but the clerk pauses in mid flow and turns to me, blinking in surprise from behind his lenses.

“I’m sorry?”

“Shay? Art?” I look back to find Kesla waving to us while the whole group seem to be waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “You done?”

“Oh shit … sorry.” I grin back at the clerk for a moment, tipping him a little salute before I start back. “Keep it up, that’s absolutely fantastic.”

Art’s grinning as wide as I am while we scamper after the others, who are already following Daste around the side of the room towards one of the corridors branches off this room. “That’s pretty awesome, ain’t it? What on earth is that thing, anyway?”

“It’s a Tektehran invention, they brought it along with the Occupation.” Gael answers “They created them to make paperwork quicker and more efficient. It’s called a type writer.”

“I hate it.” Yeslee growls.

“Yes, well you would.” Art flashes a cocked grin as he glances sidelong up at her. “I think it’s brilliant.”

Daste leads us down the corridor, and as she walks she lets out a deep sigh and brushes her hands up across her face and over her hair. “Oh gods, I do despise having to be so polite all the time, it’s no end of irritation. I’m always so much happier dealing with your kind, Mistress Shoon, freelancers like yourself are always so refreshingly direct and straightforward.”

“That’s … good to know.” Kesla cocks a brow at Gael, who simply shrugs. “Your accent … you’re from Northern Abharet, originally, am I right?”

“Very good, Mistress Shoon.” This time her smile’s much more warm and open. “I was born and raised in Tarraq, originally. I married into the House, rather than being born into it. My husband, Mithra bless him, is a good man with a sharp mind, but he has no head for business, so when his father died he bade me take his place in the Authority instead, for I am far better suited to this than him. And so, I am an Administrator.”

“Well I’m sure there are worse things you could be.” Kesla considers, then she winces as she must realise how that might sound.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

To her credit, Daste just gives her a sidelong look without losing her smile, although it does become a little more sly. “Like an order-obsessed foreign invader, perchance?”

Kesla frowns back over her shoulder, and I’m sure she’s casting about the relative gloom of the subtly curving corridor looking for more Terror troopers. “That’s not what I –”

“Captain Ceinog and his tin soldiers are a tiresome bunch and I put up with them because I have to, as do many of my colleagues. There are, unfortunately, some who are happy to work with them, but for the most part those of us who survived the purge when they seized power grovel only as much as we absolutely must.” She turns suddenly as the wall opens on her right and starts to climb up the tightly twisting iron spiral staircase within the alcove. Kesla scrambles to follow and we all bunch up waiting for our chance to climb after them.

“Yes, Mistress Daste, I’m sure that’s wise, but surely –”

“There are none of those fucking abhorrent Terror shock troops here in the halls of the House, Mistress Shoon, I can assure you of that at least. I wouldn’t stand for it, and neither would any of the others who have any sense. The Provisionals have enough sense not to push their luck here anymore than they do with the Order if they want the flow of goods to continue North as smoothly as they have in the past.”

“That’s all very well, Mistress Daste, but surely if, as you said, there are those here who are happy under the Terrors’ thumb –”

“I don’t give two shits for what any of them think, but you can bet every shiny coin in your pockets that they heed what I think all too well. The stupid ones are easy enough to keep at arm’s length, the rest at least smart enough to keep their noses out of our business if they know what’s good for them.” Daste steps off on the second landing and simply steps up to the far wall as she waits for the rest of us to come up behind her. Her smile’s gone now, a cooler, more thoughtful look on her face. “One word to the right people and I can still make life very unpleasant for them, Occupation be damned.”

None of us are particularly out of breath when we reach the top, but we still take a few moments to gather ourselves. The climb wasn’t too hard, but it was tight and twisty and certainly uncomfortable.

“Then what are we doing here?” Kesla ventures after a moment.

Daste looks up at her for a long moment, even more thoughtful now. Finally she quirks a brow. “Precisely.” She turns away before Kesla can respond again, walking on down this new corridor. “This way. Not far now.”

“Lovely.” Art mutters under his breath as he starts after Kesla.

Thankfully, as promised Daste stops at a seemingly anonymous door soon after and produces a ring of keys from somewhere in her voluminous robe. Selecting one without needing to look first, she unlocks the door with one quick, easy stroke, then steps aside while holding it open and gestures for us to enter. Kesla does as she’s bade, Art following, and then it seems to be me. Daste gives me a quick look in the moment that I hesitate, but gives nothing away in her expression. A little discomfited by that cool gaze, I just duck on in after the others.

The office beyond is significantly larger than I expected from the corridor. Inside the entrance a raised platform leads right and left into other rooms I can’t see, but three shallow steps down the floor itself stretches a good distance to a back wall which, yet again, seems to be made almost entirely of those impossibly large single panes of glass. The view looks out over the line of trees and open ground between the building and the perimeter wall, but there’s a gap between the trees here, clearly intentionally situated, which lets in plenty of light. Clearly this is in deference to Daste’s work, since her substantial desk stretches out in front of it, her rich leather seat with its tall back sat facing what I could be forgiven for thinking is open air.

Everything in here is very richly appointed, but in a tasteful way, opulent without being brash. Where the Silver Order seems to prefer an austere and minimalist approach, here the emphasis is clearly on making sure whoever comes calling knows full well just how well-off and therefore intrinsically powerful the person they’re dealing with is.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable.” Daste requests as she steps into the room behind the last of us, closing the door behind her and slipping the latch as she does it. I know she does it simply to ensure we won’t be disturbed, but it makes me uncomfortable all the same, and I know I’m not alone, Yeslee looking at the door for a long time after the rest of us start to move again.

Kesla settles into a large, square leather chair facing the desk at an angle, which seems to be almost entirely padding, frowning for a moment as she sinks into it, and I grab the other one across from it before Art can pounce. He scowls at me for a moment, although he clearly means it in jest, and I simply poke my tongue out at him before sitting down, surprised by how deeply I’m enveloped by the cushions. The others start to spread out on the long couch set along the raised platform.

Instead of sitting down in her own chair, Daste picks something up from her desk. For a moment I have no idea what the hell it is, it’s like some kind of strange metallic bell-bloomed flower on a little wooden handle, but then she gives it a brief flick and it makes a pretty tinkling sound. A moment later a small, swarthy man with no hair at all in a very simplistic and extremely well-pressed black uniform emerges from the open doorway on the left of the platform, taking us all by surprise. I swear Yeslee almost jumps right out of her seat, he’s so stealthy in his arrival.

“Yes, Madam Daste?” His accent’s even thicker than hers.

“Tea please, Halik.” Daste replies, finally settling into her chair. “With a dash, I think. It’s been an awfully long day.”

“Very good, Madam Daste.” He bows impressively low. “And for your guests?”

Daste simply turns to look around at the rest of us, raising her hands in invitation. Gods … my mind’s gone blank.

“I think tea sounds wonderful, don’t you?” Kesla raises her brows at me, like she’s seen right through my dilemma.

“Um … yeah, sure. That’s perfect. Tea. I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Same.” Art adds, then he seems to remember himself. “Please.”

“Just water’s fine for me, please.” Tulen sets her unbuckled sword down on the floor at her feet, frowning down at it a little now. Seems she’s as unfamiliar with the difficulties of such things as I would’ve expected, really. At least Gael had the presence of mind to remember theirs before they sat down.

“Well I’d like some tea, please.” they request, smiling brightly up at the newcomer. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

Halik’s smile is blindingly bright. “Oh no, it’s no trouble at all, honourable Master.” He turns to Yeslee, whose frown deepens.

“Oh, um … tea. Please.”

“Excellent.” He bows low again and is gone almost before I realise it.

Daste snaps something open which gives me a start, and it takes me a moment to realise it’s a paper fan, extremely finely made from the look of it. My father had one, it belonged to his own mother, it was impossibly old but still worked as well as the day it was made. I feel a little wistful seeing this one. Daste wafts it briskly in front of her face for a few moments, sitting back with her eyes closed and a subtle smile on her face. “Halik is a godsend.”

“He seems very pleasant.” The words are out of my mouth before I realise it.

She has a little chuckle about it. “He came up with me when I was sent to be married. He’s watched over me since I was very small. In truth he’s about all the family I have left these days. My mother’s still alive in our rambling old house back in Tarraq, but the rest went the way of most of our fortune while I was still a child. So much for the House of Daste.”

“And your husband too, of course.” Kesla adds.

“Yes, well Feddo’s seen better days, but he’s good for me all the same. And we had two strong sons, so there’s that. Gil went the way of many during the Invasion, got it in his damn fool head to run off and join the resistance and ended up dead, but we still have Ked, so at least there’s some hope for the Daste bloodline to carry on into the future.”

Kesla watches her for a long time, a strange look on her face now. Given what I’ve recently learned about her I think she knows an awful lot about that. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Daste’s smile is a little more bitter now as she folds the fan closed again and sets it aside. “Family is … complicated. Which is exactly what brought us to this, am I right, Master Foxtail?”

“Oh!” Gael starts a little, sitting upright now. They’re still gripping their new staff, and they frown up at it for a moment before passing it across Art’s knees and setting it to lean against the full bookshelves taking up the entire wall. “Um … yes, I suppose it is. Yes. My father.”

“I’m truly sorry it came to this, Master Foxtail. Darion is a good friend, he’s done me a great many fine services over the years, and pulled my arse out of the fire more than once in a particularly tricky spot. I owe him a lot. That this has happened … I’m truly worried by it. He’s the best wizard I’ve ever met, I don’t believe he could just fall off the face of the earth the way he has.”

“What brought him here in the first place?” Kesla sits forward, settling her elbows across her knees. “If I might ask, that is. I’m afraid Mistress Thermyse back at the Citadel wasn’t overly forthcoming on details.”

“Unfortunately that’s simply because we don’t know much either. Darion had a very faint trail to follow to begin with, and while he was following it he played his cards very close to his chest, so when he disappeared he left our own people without anything to go on.”

“These were the same people who fumbled so badly you had to call in help from the Order in the first place, right?” I can’t help giving voice to my own thoughts.

Daste purses her lips like she’s sucking on something very sour indeed. “The local townsguard are … unreliable at best. Those that aren’t in the pocket of the Provisionals or worse have enough troubles of their own just maintaining the peace from day to day, and you can never truly be sure which is which any more. So what little information we’ve been able to drum up on our own has been uncovered by private individuals who work exclusively for people like me. They’re good fighters, like yourselves, but they’re not really made for investigation, and their resources are quite limited.”

Kesla’s thoughtful for a moment, lacing her fingers together as she looks down at them. “Mistress Thermyse mentioned that someone else went missing before, apparently that was what the senior Master Foxtail was investigating when he disappeared. Certainly it’s a glaring coincidence.”

“One of my deputies, who vanished a month ago with no leads forthcoming. He was looking into something worryingly similar himself at the time, in fact. There have been a rash of these disappearances in poorer quarters of the city over the past year, and it was brought to my attention that no-one in the townsguard had or even looked into it. So I assigned Tedir Harrith to look into it, going through some of the few sources we still had open to us in the Untermer townsguard that we felt we could still trust. Then he went missing under alarmingly similar circumstances to many of those citizens. This entire case has been a compounding succession of ironies, I’m afraid.”

“Clearly.” Kesla twiddles her thumbs idly for a few moments, still contemplating. “I take it Darion was following the same slim trail of breadcrumbs this Master Harrith uncovered.”

“Most likely.” Daste takes a moment to straighten a few of the already very neatly arranged papers laid out on the table.

“So we’d be best off starting where they did, I’d imagine.” She looks up at last, sitting back in the chair and looking directly at Daste now.

Daste starts to smile again, although it seems a rather thin and fragile thing compared to before. For the first time she starts to look old, but still very vital all the same. “I suspected you might want to follow that line, so I had Halik collect everything he could from both Harrith’s office and his home that looked even remotely relevant.” She picks up a dark red card folder and holds it out to Kesla, who rises enough to collect it before settling back down.

Opening the folder, Kesla reveals what seems to be an alarmingly slender sheaf of paper indeed. Altogether there can’t be more than three or four sheets in there. “This is all of it?”

“Unfortunately so, and from what I’ve been able to garner from it, what there is seems frustratingly tangential, if it’s truly connected at all. I suspect it means that either Darion found it already himself, or more likely it was already gone before he got to it. Personally, I think the latter is more likely, given how thorough whoever this is has been in covering their tracks up until now.”

“Yeah, I see your logic there.” Kesla scans the papers quickly, I suspect more for the sake of it than anything else, and by then Halik’s returned, moving with a large, heavily laden tray he handles with perfect ease and poise. A large, ornate metallic teapot sits in the middle, surrounded by several cups and saucers, each with a tiny silver spoon. There’s even a bowl that seems to be crammed with little sugary biscuits. My stomach instantly starts growling at the sight of that, and now I realise how long it’s been since breakfast.

As Halik sets the tray down on the corner of the desk, Kesla turns in the chair to face Gael and closes the folder before holding it out to them. They blink for a moment, then rise with simple elven ease, step forward to collect it and return to their seat in three precise motions. By this point Halik’s already poured out a well-steeped cup of very rich smelling tea into one of the cups, and is now reaching inside his uniform jacket. I have a moment where that overly-wary deep-set part of me almost jumps up to intercept a perceived threat before it presents itself, but I restrain it even before he produces a small metal flask. Unscrewing the cap, he swills it for a moment before pouring a little into the filled cup, which he then holds out to Daste. “Madam?”

“Thank you.” Daste’s smile broadens as she takes hold of the rim of the saucer and takes up the spoon, giving the tea a gentle stir for a few moments before setting it aside and lifting the cup to gently blow across it before taking a sip. Closing her eyes, she smacks her lips gently and sighs deep. “Oh … blessed Mithra, that’s better.”

Now he’s holding one out to me, and I realise it’s simply by virtue of me being closest, it seems. I simply stare at it for a long moment, it takes me that long to remember myself, then I take it with a muttered: “Thank you.” As I draw it close I realise there’s three of those little biscuits arranged along the rim of the saucer beside the cup, and I realise that Halik’s already anticipated my roused appetite. Wow … this guy really is good.

Gods … that little whiff I got when he came in really doesn’t do this stuff justice, this tea smells incredible. I just inhale it for several moments, indulging my powerful orcish sense of smell, and when I look up again I find Kesla’s got her own now, watching me with an amused smile as she gives her own cup a gentle stir. “Y’know, Art does the exact same thing when we get good tea. Or even just good food. Hell, when we get some good wine he turns into a right little connoisseur.”

“Oi, I will not stand for being called something when I dunno what it means.” Art snaps, fighting to hide a smile as he pretends to spoil for a fight.

“Relax, fuzz-head. It just means you got a nose for the finer things.”

Art cocks a brow and sits back. “Oh. Okay, that actually sounds pretty cool.” He turns to Tulen and grins wide. “I’m a connoisseur, apparently.”

“Fancy that.” Tulen replies, smiling back just as brilliantly, and several of us burst out laughing while Art starts to pout a little as he realises he’s become the butt of a joke after all. It doesn’t last long though, as Halik arrives to offer him a cup of his own and his face changes instantly once he gets a whiff of the tea. Clearly he’s as impressed as I am.

That’s it then, I don’t wait any longer. I blow gently over the surface to cool it just a little and take a sip and For several moments everything simply goes away as the flavour just pops in my head. My father loves tea, he would always drink it in lieu of the cheap coffee most of our company would brew, but generally he’d have to make do with whatever he could get a hold of. Even so, he made a very big deal about doing it just right, no matter what quality or type of tea he had, and through him I learned to appreciate even the fairly cheap stuff that we tended to see. This, however, is like nothing I’ve ever drunk before. “Wow.”

“This is excellent tea, Mistress Daste.” Kesla smacks her own lips, her smile becoming more indulgent. “My compliments, Master Halik.”

“Why thank you, Madam Shoon.” Halik bows deep, but somehow it doesn’t seem to cause so much as a ripple in the cup he’s passing to Yeslee, who takes it with a polite little nod.

“It’s my family’s own brand, one of the few things I have left to my name that still generates revenue to keep the estate afloat.” Daste nods too in appreciation of the compliment. “I’m very pleased you like it.”

“Reckon Wenrich’d like this.” Art admits.

Gael nods as they inhale their own, their smile quite subtle. “He does enjoy fine tea.”

“I assume you mean Master Clearwood?” Daste’s simply looking into her own cup, as if trying to divine something from it, but then she looks up at Gael specifically, clearly making the connection clear.

The degree of awkwardness throughout the group seems to vary in the following pause, and in the interim Halik returns from his room off to the side with a second tray bearing a large jug of water that’s clearly quite cold due to the condensation on it, and a tall empty glass. He sets this next to the tea tray and fills the glass with a deft hand before carrying it briskly to Tulen, once again causing no discernible ripples at all. I’m still in awe of how smoothly he moves, it’s genuinely uncanny.

In the back of my mind I’m starting to wonder if he might actually be some kind of master warrior underneath what might actually be simple feigned subservience. Maybe he’s not Daste’s servant at all, but instead her bodyguard.

Whatever, the next moment he’s just gone, it takes me quite by surprise. I turn to Kesla but she’s simply dunking the one biscuit she was given into her tea now, letting it soak a little, so I don’t think she caught it. I’m not really sure I really did either, anyway. I decide not to bring it up. Instead I try dunking one of my own biscuits in the tea, letting it sit for a few moments and then lifting it out to take a bit. It’s soft and chewy and rich from the tea but also extremely sweet. After swallowing this initial bite I don’t even bother dunking again as my hunger takes over, I just pop the rest of the biscuit into my mouth and start munching.

“To be honest, I would have expected Master Clearwood to have come himself on this matter.” Daste sets her cup down at last, looking at Kesla again.

Kesla simply returns the look, unfazed now. “He had a little difficulty recently, so he’s resting up. We came in his stead. We got a stake in this, anyway.”

“Clearly.” She fiddles with the papers on her desk again for a moment. “I’m sorry I can’t give you better leads to go on right now, the simple matter is that we’re all entirely at a loss, and it’s become alarming. I’m sorry for what’s happened to Darion, but I must look to my own first, as I’m sure you can appreciate. This is clearly something much more serious than some disappeared workers and families and vagrants. Not that I’m trying to overlook our less fortunate citizens in any way. I simply worry this is only the beginning, a precursor to something far worse.”

When she looks up this time any mask of calm or propriety she may have been maintaining until now is starting to slip, and I can make out what’s hiding underneath. Fear, pure and simple. It’s very restrained, she clearly has a handle on it, but it’s there all the same. She’s genuinely scared.

This time when I look Kesla surprises me as I find she’s already watching me, wary again, and I realise she’s been following my train of thought. She takes a deep breath, and sets her cup down on its saucer before putting the whole set-up very carefully down on the broad, flat arm of the chair. “We understand, Mistress Daste. Of course we do. Obviously we got our own reasons to be here, but that don’t change the fact that we got a job to do. Clearly the best, surest way of going about it’s doing the job Darion Foxtail was sent for before he disappeared, and with a bit of luck it might lead us to him too. So of course we’ll help you, you don’t even gotta ask. Right, Gael?”

“I just want to help my father.” Gael sets their own cup down on its saucer too, holding it in both hands, somewhat awkward now. “I appreciate that for some of you this is bigger than one missing wizard, but I can’t afford to think like that. All I care about is finding him before …” They falter, looking down into their tea, finally just sighing before their resolve returns. “I’ll do whatever I have to, and I know my friends will help however they can.”

There’s another thoughtful silence after that, and the whole while Art munches away on a biscuit. Finally he swallows, licking his lips. “Yeah. What Gael said. Definitely.”

Daste looks at us all for several long beats, thoughtful again. Finally she settles back into her chair as she picks her fan up again and snaps it open with one deft flick of her wrist, wafting it gently under her chin. “Thank you. I’ll do what I can, although what I just presented to you is essentially all we seem to have left, so I can’t think how else you could even start. All we have is what little my own investigators, such as they are, managed to dig up.”

“Well since that’s all we have, then we might as well start there.” Kesla picks up her cup again and takes another sip. “Mmmm … maybe you could just introduce us to whichever one of these people you hired you think would be best for us speak to. The smartest one, say. The most capable.”

Thinking for a moment, Daste reaches across her desk again and picks up a small slip of blank paper from a small tray set to the side, then takes the quill from the ink-well and starts writing in a smooth, practiced hand. “That would be Sonagh. You’ll find him in the Drumhalt. I’d warn you that he’s not what you’d normally expect in this profession, but …” She looks at me and starts to smile again, which makes me uneasy for no reason I can immediately fathom. “I don’t really think I need to worry about that at all.”