Rebirth, Casa Abaya
Lady Tera Brusk straightens herself, subconsciously brushing away her emotional indulgences of a moment ago. This is her ancestral home, the place where she was raised; it’s been infiltrated by an unknown entity that has demonstrated its willingness to cause harm. As a representative of the second most powerful family on the continent this must be addressed appropriately.
Her heart races, but this is nothing like the terror she felt the night of her husband’s death. Every danger since has paled next to that horrifying night. Whatever lies ahead will be faced without fear of outcome. Nothing can kill you when you are already dead inside.
Clovis follows close on her heals, she can feel the violence he represents without any gift of her own. The contained energy from the flywheel can’t be felt without the gift, yet the awareness of its presence raises the hair on her arms none the less.
Sylus leads the pair unnecessarily through the home.
“Sylus, you say I have a guest for dinner; did this person give a name?”
“I’m afraid there were not many words exchanged. He appeared in the kitchen an hour ago and after a brief exchange of cooking knives, he told me he would be joining you for dinner and sat himself at your table.”
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“He wears a mask.”
This could be any number of her past decisions coming back to bite her, an insulted suitor, her brother-in-law’s final negation tactic, or the result of the many threads she was told to leave alone yet pulled anyways.
Arriving at the dining hall, conversations are curtailed. Sylus continues into the room and heads to the kitchen to begin the food service. Clovis accompanies Terara to her seat at the head of the table.
The uninvited guest already seated, does not rise. He appears to be small, covered from head to toe, no physical features besides weight and height can be discerned. A battered brown hooded robe, white gloves, black pants, and worn brown boots make up his ensemble. His face as warned is covered by a mask, a plain white oval with a simple face painted on its surface, comprised of two dots and a straight line. No opening for sight or air, a clear indication of power.
Terara waits as if at a court function, back straight, expressionless as Sylus brings a covered tray and presents its contents for her approval. She indicates her acceptance with a subtle nod and watches as the first course is set before her and the masked intruder.
Ignoring the small plate with a mix of cheese, sliced sausage, and apple slices she continues her courtly duties and waits. The presence of Clovis at her back continues to feel menacing and dangerous, a destructive force if unleashed that would devastate this entire wing of Casa Abaya.
The mysterious interloper sits so still he disappears from perception. A novel decoration that looks out of place but not warranting any thought.
The minutes stretch with neither party speaking nor acknowledging the food in front of them. Ten minutes after setting down the two plates, Sylus returns and takes the untouched food away.
The door between kitchen and dining room is still swinging when it reopens on Sylus’s return with another tray. Presented, approved, a matching pair of soup bowls filled with bright-red borscht. The soup is served chilled with a slice of toasted bread on the side.
Lady Terara continues to wait, as manors and diplomatic customs dictate. Her guest is welcome to begin at any time but chooses not to. This isn’t her first awkward meal, and hopefully not her last.
Ten minutes later the borscht joins the charcuterie, uneaten in the kitchen. The next tray presented contains the main course, cavi bourguignon, and takes its place in front of the two silent diners.
The until now motionless intruder slowly picks up his napkin. His motions so subtle Clovis doesn’t detect the movement until the napkin unfolds with a little shake.
Clovis has a clear line of fire, rotates his wrists to expose the lead shots to his target.
Napkin in lap, the intruder picks up a fork and pokes it around the bowl until he finds what he’s looking for. A gentle stab secures his target, and he brings the soft piece of cavi up to his chin.
Using his off hand, he pulls the mask forward and quickly eats the morsal before reseating his face covering.
Guest fed, it can begin.
“You’ve accepted my hospitality.”
Clovis nearly lets his first shot loose as the intruder slams his fork to the table, “You offered no-such thing. There is no binding of my behavior with social niceties.”
It’s a gamble she must take, presuming the wrong thing here could be death, “But I did, when I summoned you.”
“I was not summoned; I came here of my own volition.”
“Yes, to size me up after you learned I was interested in your services.”
If correct this is the man she heard can do the impossible, she was warned to not inquire too openly or risk a late-night visit from a faceless assassin.
“I was told all I needed to do to gain an audience was to make my interests known to certain principles. I did so, and here you are, eating at my table.
“I don’t presume you to be bound to anything. I am merely stating the obvious so we can begin.”
The intruder pushes back his hood and removes his mask. Underneath is a face blurred by the gift, revealing nothing more than his short, cropped silver hair.
Taking up his fork once more he savors two bites before continuing the conversation, “You do realize, I’m the faceless assassin here to kill you right?”
“If you wanted me to believe that, you would not have scuffled with my cook. The cost of his vest will be part of our negotiated price for your services.”
“I did that so I could have dinner, this stew smelled too good to pass up.”
Arching an eyebrow to show her disbelief, “Maybe I made a mistake. I was looking for someone who takes their job seriously.”
Waiting to swallow another spoonful of the hearty, perfectly seasoned stew, “I take everything I do seriously. It’s people that I take lightly.
“Take your man standing behind you. He operates a flywheel driven carriage; he must be holding enough destructive force to level half this building. He doesn’t concern me half as much as your chef. The layers of flavor in the dish could mask two poisons and one paralytic. When I smelled what he was preparing I had to search his pantry and room to ensure he didn’t have a fourth job.”
Now both of Terara’s eyebrows dig furrows as she becomes concerned by that number.
“Oh, I see you only know of the two that you pay for.
“Besides running your household and cooking these fine meals as contracted by you, he is also under contract with Anton Brusk to report what you’re up to from day to day. He has other spies scurrying around the estate where you conduct business, but you know who those are.”
Lady Terara takes note that she’ll need to find a new chef, “Our current spy network is focused on business, it’s ill equipped for what’s coming.”
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Setting down his fork and picking up a chunk of bread, he waves it around as he speaks, “You never outright said what you really wanted, but I am able to infer much from your comments and current world events, you’d have me create a coast-to-coast operational intelligence gathering operation, that functions undetected, and is absolutely loyal to your cause. Am I close?”
“Not bad, but I don’t ask as much as you think. Their loyalty should be to you as they will never know their original employer and I could care less if their existence is known. I want others to seek out their intelligence and buy it. No matter which side of the upcoming conflict they throw their loyalty. I want the battle lines to be clear, no backstabbing by supposed allies. If someone tries to switch sides mid battle, I want everyone to know about it.”
Taking a sip of warm water, “We are a strange people. Willing to give up a key advantage, to keep things on the level. I often wonder if our creators built us to be like this, to keep us from dominating each other in perpetuity. We weren’t always so fair-minded. Our distant ancestors mercilessly slaughtered each other and used every advantage with no thought of debt or repayment. The Lost Children and War Born still reflect that behavior, but the history books tell us they were so much worse in the past.
“This war will be like nothing any of us have ever seen. I’ll take your job, the cost will be start-up expenses only, we’ll keep the proceeds from the information sales, and Sylus will need to be killed or he’ll leak you plan to Anton. Your idea of a secretly-yet-openly sharing information network will only work if the intent remains unknown.
“Don’t worry about Clovis there. He doesn’t know it, but he already works for me. The PPoV has people all over the world unknowingly selling information to them.”
Clovis hides the lead shots but stays prepared to act, “Please believe me lady. Your late husband authorized me to take the job so long as I only supplied information on our competitors. He said if I refused, they would simply hire someone else.”
The man with the blurred face adds, “It was a good ruse for a while. Eventually the intelligence hole regarding the Brusk Empire became obvious and I was forced to seek that second hireling.”
“I’ve had my fill of this excellent stew, do I kill the chef or not?”
Lady Terara Brusk looks past the foot of the table to the wall where hangs a painting of her mother and father. Her hope of their image conjuring some emotional turmoil are dashed when she continues to feel nothing.
“Yes, I see that he must die. I’d do it myself if I could do so swiftly and painlessly. I’ve never received such training, but the blood will be as surly on my hands as if I did.”
The man with the blurred face pauses in consideration, “Do you mean that?”
“Mean what?”
“You’d do it if you were trained?”
“I said the words, I guess I’ll never know for sure.”
Invisible bindings appear and encapsulate Clovis, especially his hands which are clenching those lead balls again. A sensory hood completes his confinement, with no way of telling where anyone is standing, even if he sacrificed body parts, he has no way to target.
In the same eye-blink used to neutralize bodyguard Clovis, the man with the blurred face leaps sideways over the table and grabs Lady Terara by the hair, dragging her to the floor.
She screams as she’s brutally bounced across the dining hall and thrown through the kitchen doors like a rag doll.
Landing next to her chef who is also bound, Terara feels the first glimmer of danger awaken.
The man once again wearing his white mask walks casually through the swinging doors and stoops next to his two victims.
He casually pulls a small worn case from an inside pocket. Opens it and shows both the contents, “This syringe contains a toxin that will deaden a person’s nervous system. Too much and they’ll die, I’ll be sure to not kill you, Sylus. It would tear up my heart after tasting your cooking to do so.
“If I administer the right amount you’ll be paralyzed and unable to feel anything for around twenty minutes, I’m sorry to report that you’ll feel like you’ve been lit on fire for the next twenty hours as it wears off.
“To save you from the uncomfortable fate, the good Lady Terara has offered her services as a mercy.
“Sit up Terara, you can’t be a butcher laying on the ground.”
Fetching a large meat cleaver, he returns to the lady and drops the knife in front of her kneeling form.
Two taps to the forearm and a suitable vein pops up on Sylus’s arm. Needle in, plunger pushed, the neurolytic agent begins to work immediately.
The faceless assassin speaks quietly, “Here’s your chance to put words to action.”
Raising his voice, “You’re not escaping. I freed you so the lady could have an audience; join us.”
Clovis appears through the doorway and whispers, “No! Allow me to do this for you lady.”
The brief tickle of danger is gone, she looks at the blank mask, then to Clovis and locks eyes with him. She doesn’t remember picking up the cleaver, but she is acutely aware of deciding to strike downward with all her might and cleaving halfway through the neck of Sylus, someone she’s known for twenty-two years.
Blood splashes and pumps from his open arteries, spraying her and the room alike.
Since everyone else has been whispering it seems appropriate for her to follow suite, “Are you satisfied that I am a woman of my word?”
Squatting while balanced on his heels, “Yes, yes I am.”
The lights flicker and the faceless assassin disappears.
She knows she’s holding a meat cleaver; she sees a letter opener. The dead chef in this light with blood oozing from his neck bares an uncanny likeness to her dead husband, dead by the same hand; her hand.
Blinking her eyes until the cleaver is a cleaver and the dead chef is Sylus, she still feels nothing inside.
Setting down the heavy blade she returns her unblinking dead eyes back to Clovis, “There appears to have been a break-in, see if anything is missing then prepare a grave for our departed friend and colleague.
“I’ll tidy up in here.”
“Yes milady.”
Clovis knew his employer was tough, but he never imagined she was also a stone-cold killer.
Rebirth, Outside the Wall of Casa Abaya
The masked man slips over the three yard high wall like stepping over a stone. Darting across the road he enters the surrounding woods. Ten minutes of rapid dodging through trees under the full moon brings him to a farmhouse, where warm light spills out through the floor to ceiling windows.
Peering into the home he sees a sight that brings out his true nature, lighting a fire in his core making his cheeks flush.
Four women sit around a fireplace in plush chairs, wrapped in blankets with cups of some hot liquid cupped in their hands. The sight enflames the masked man’s base desires, he watches three of the four women laugh over some unheard joke. The sole abstainer from merriment is a War Born. All four are dressed provocatively as expected of women in their forties, a War Born, a golden haired beauty, a blue haired vixen, and a redheaded waif.
The masked man watches until he can no longer control himself, giving in to his inner desires, he knocks on the front door. Heightening the experience, he shuts down his gift enhanced senses and eagerly observes the light from under the door.
No longer able to see his quarry, he imagines them looking back and forth, imploring each other nonverbally to go answer the door. One of them sighing in resignation, setting their cup on a side table, and awkwardly standing up and tossing their blanket over the back of their chair.
Which morsal will it be that answer the door, they’re all equally desirable. Shivers ran up his spine as the shadow of feet showed under the door.
The door is thrown open, it’s the War Born.
Shouting, “Puck!” Shelly throws her arms around the masked man.
It takes less than ten seconds for the other three women to join the pair in the doorway.
At some point the mask, gloves, and ugly brown robe are discarded, revealing the youthful boy underneath. Silver hair, upturned nose, and deep blue eyes.
The quartet dragged the boy inside.
“Tell us everything! Did they try to hurt you?”
The boy, sounding distraught, “They were terrible. The woman is a killer, she murdered her chef in front of my eyes because she thought he betrayed her.”
Three voices in unison, “No!”
Sherry, always quick to catch on, “Did you suggest he did?”
Sheepishly, “Yes, but it was the truth. The man was spying on her.”
“Then, he had it coming.”
Dead chef forgotten, the women push the boy into a chair and foist a cup of hot chocolate into his hands.
Blanket across lap, warm cup in hand, Puck feels more himself than he did a half hour ago. He’d like to relax and enjoy the moment, but he has a job. He promised the Lady Terara an information sharing apparatus, he will deliver.
Looking at the four adoring women that followed him here, “Ladies, I could stay and cuddle with you all night… actually, if its ok with everyone, I’d like that. But first we need to talk about the work ahead.”
The four woman have already nestled back into comfy chairs and retrieved their hot chocolate. Each of them content where they are, eyes locked on Puck, anxious to hear whatever he wants to talk about.
“I’ve been asked to create a coast to coast spy network, that shares information to every side of the coming conflict. What do you think I should do?”
Shelly states, “That will be no easy task, I’d reject the job.”
The redheaded waif, Gege counters, “Don’t you already have information networks feeding North and South Cenoka sources?”
Abott, the blue haired vixen, “Yes, we could create a third shadow network that leaks information between the two.”
The golden haired beauty, Silk adds, “This network could be incredibly small. Maybe four dedicated women that know you better than anyone?”
Puck, his masked persona forgotten, “You four are the best, I couldn’t imagine a better group of supporters.
“Everything you said sounds perfect. Proof that I could not have a smarter,” pausing to look each in the eye, “more beautiful group of friends at my side.”
The four women gaze adoringly at their employer, confidant, and best friend.
“I’m sleepy, is there a bed we can cuddle in?”
All four nod and as one, get up and lead Puck to the large bed with five pillows and enough blankets for all.