Ian

The corridors of the Winter Palace were ornate, more like long aisles of square bays, ribbed by pillars panelled in ancient, varnished wood. The longer ones were dizzying to look along. Many of the bays held priceless paintings or intricate light fittings in brass or even bronze. I was starting to get a sense of the layout of the place but picking this spot had taken me and Horace hours of research.

Now, I listened to the single approaching set of footsteps, the almost musical tone of geta on the wooden floor carrying well. Although much in the palace was still done according to ancient tradition, the servants all wore soft-soled pumps these days. This was it.

"Excuse me, Miss Hynafol?" Picking my moment, I stepped out into the corridor in front of the tall, white-haired woman, hoping I'd left enough space not to startle her. Not that she looked like the kind to startle easily. Her face was unlined, and her eyes sparkled with much besides the stress she had to be under.

She stopped in front of me, distance making clear she wasn't open to friendly conversation. "Who are you?"

I spread my hands carefully, palms forward. "A friend, I hope." I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder to check one last time that there was no-one to overhear. The palace was massive and foot traffic generally light, I could probably trust my hearing. I leaned forward a little, lowering my voice. "I have information about… a certain bird. Can I speak to you privately?"

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For a moment she looked confused, as if there was more than one bird that might be worrying her. Then she caught on, her eyes widening, her mouth a neat 'o'. She nodded, pressing her lips closed. I jerked my head for her to follow me.

She had no trouble matching the brisk pace I set, up the hall and into a minor gallery, and from there to a back room that lacked the spectacular Imperial décor and was probably the domain of the servants. She hesitated at the sight of Horace, leaning on the back wall with his arms folded, but followed me inside and closed the door without being asked.

It was when she spoke that her hostility returned. "Ok, dear, let me ask you again. Who are you?"

I hoisted myself up onto the trestle table in the middle of the room, trying to keep my body language relaxed. "Name's Ian Spector. I'm a P.I. I can't tell you who my client is, but let's just say he was able to get me access to the palace. Don't mind Horace, he's with me."

Hynafol clearly did mind Horace, she kept glancing over at him, but even with a jacket covering his arms he was pretty eye-catching. Still, when she did look at me, there was force in her glare. "And your message?"

"I'm not supposed to say much," I said as I fumbled in my shirt pocket for Ike's note. "My client wanted to ensure you could make your own decision about what to do with this." I held out my hand, the paper fold pinched between my fingers for her to take. "A contact phone number for the Raven himself."

She must have worked out it was something like that, her eyes narrowed with suspicion rather than widening in surprise. She took the paper, her raised arm stalling in the air between us. "Your client said nothing else?"

I shrugged. "He was adamant it should be your decision. He said he was out of other ideas for how to help you."

"Alright." She sounded anything but, but mustered a smile anyway. "Thank you, dear."