Rakesh swept his black, scholarly robes away from his body and clasped his hands together behind him, walking with an unhurried air through the broad, meticulously-cobbled streets of Mahkaiaraon. His mind whirled through a multitude of observations and possibilities, noting the equidistant planting of the peach and cherry trees alongside the road, each barricaded within beautiful gilt fences; the lack of a slum district, along with taller than usual apartments to house additional citizens; and, of course, the prevalence of white marble buildings.
Each detail resounded in his mind, sparking his interest, but he forced himself to appear relaxed and unconcerned. For a relatively inconsequential town, the amount of wealth flowing through the small city was truly staggering. Something was going on beneath the surface, and he intended to find out what.
Ah, yes. This place holds secrets.
“Enough of that, now,” Rakesh muttered to himself sternly. He shut down the portion of his mind that worried about how his teammates might be faring while they investigated the Old Keep, focusing only on the task at hand. When [Echo of the Songbird] cut out, and they didn’t return the night before, he knew that they were beyond his meager ability to help. Nuri would pull them through. That man had more lives than a cat. In the meantime, Rakesh would have to apply his talents in more scholarly pursuits. Can’t waste my time. Research is on the docket.
He ambled about, letting his lazy steps guide him wherever his feet pleased to wander. As much as it pained him to indulge in his desultory desires, Rakesh did his best to give off the appearance of aimlessness. He’d spent an hour sightseeing, and he thought he might even look convincing.
Flânerie, some of the journals called it. Connecting with the inner being and enjoying the subconscious narratives of life as the city spoke to you. A smile tugged at his thin lips. Ezio had other terms for it. Fondly, he recalled his Master’s derision of the article about allowing the city’s architecture and anima to sweep over you as you wandered about, observing modernity. “There is no scholarship here, Rakesh! They’re idling, avoiding honest labor. Oafing about and having the temerity to call it sagacious! Only wastrels piddle and fritter away their lives and expect to be praised for it.”
Before another half hour passed—to the surprise of absolutely no one, he thought with a wry smile—Rakesh’s long steps took him to the library.
Rakesh ascended the wide marble steps three at a time, bounding up with unconcealed energy. He greeted the doorman, paid a small coin to enter since he wasn’t a citizen of the city, and breathed in the heady aroma of musty books and immortal ideas.
Although they’d only been in town a few days, Rakesh needed no assistance in finding his way to the records department. He navigated the hallways with aplomb, instantly at ease; he may be far from the city of his birth, but he was always at home in the familiar setting of a library. The hallowed halls of learning everywhere differed in details, after all, not substance.
Soon, he’d compiled a stack of a dozen or more old books, publicly available copies of [Lord] Dimitri’s edicts, and the official bylaws of the city. Rakesh settled into a cozy chair in one of the study rooms, closing the door to shut out the last vestiges of sound from the academics in the main room. He sorted through the records, scanning the pages as quickly as he could while letting his Skills do the heavy lifting. If a common thread existed, he’d feel it like a buzzing in the back of his mind.
Looking for any information he might be able to find to help the team, Rakesh passed an hour in complete silence. Not once did his Skills alert him to anything useful or overlooked, but he was used to dead ends and long book sessions. He shifted once, stretching out his neck and shoulders to avoid adopting a hunched position, and resumed his study.
Within another twenty minutes, however, he’d reached the end of the likely leads without anything to show for it. Granted, maybe he’d missed other resources that might contain better information, but the materials he had selected had all resonated with his Skills, which made the lack of progress all the more baffling. Usually, [Epiphany of the Scholar] and [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities] led him unerringly to the right sources.
Rakesh frowned, squinting at the documents spread out on the desk in front of him, and funneled more mana into the Skills. A strange resistance met his efforts, but he pushed against it mentally, and it soon shattered under his insistence. Immediately, golden script curled around the dates of the public records, and he blinked, staring at them as though scales had fallen from his eyes. Entries were missing, and unless he was more tired than he’d realized, the omission was intentional.
I won’t get anywhere with the public information. Giddiness and frustration both rose up within him. Rakesh unfolded himself from the chair, pacing across the narrow confines of the study chamber. What he needed was likely sealed away, inaccessible to his snooping unless he disturbed whatever—or whomever—had erected the mental barrier.
“Nothing for it,” Rakesh said, an irrepressible grin growing. He bounced on the balls of his feet, eager for what came next. Nothing was hidden from him, not if he fell back on his greatest Skill. He’d have to live without it for a month while it slowly recharged, but given that the team planned to travel across wilderness toward the Mender’s city of Gilead after this stop, he likely wouldn’t need it for a while.
Guilt gnawed at the edges of his mind. He had promised Ezio that he’d only use the Skill in case of emergency. But with his team missing, surely this qualified?
To safeguard against the strange mental sluggishness and the hidden records, Rakesh would have to gather more information than he was privy to in the Mahkaiaraon library. And that meant invoking his greatest Skill, consequences or not. He rubbed his palms together. Justified. I don’t have a choice!
In the privacy of the borrowed library study room, surrounded by sound-proofing wards, Rakesh dared to whisper the name of his secret scholar Skill aloud: “[Eidolon Construct: Mind of The Index].”
Power expanded all around him, filling the room like a golden banner unfurled against the pale blue sky. The shining Skill surged to life, accelerating his thought-process like a ship cutting across the seas after its sails caught a gale force wind. Within seconds, he was fully immersed in a mesh of shimmering wirework, surrounded by an ethereal golden machine that tapped into the national Index itself.
“Your efforts to obfuscate the truth are null and void,” Rakesh declared smugly, jutting out his chin at the ceiling. It wasn’t dignified to gloat, and he knew that no one could hear his triumphant proclamation, but he couldn’t help himself. Activating this Skill always left him with a heady rush of excitement. After all, how many people could conjure up an artificial mind, one that bordered on true intelligence, from nothing?
“Index prompt,” Rakesh commanded, guiding the interface of his complex Skill. “You are a [Researcher] tasked with sorting through the Mahkaiaraon records to find all entries pertaining to the [Lord] Dimitri, both public and private. Present any sealed decrees, filings, or statements registered with the Index within the last two years.”
The Skill whirred, glowing so brightly that he wished he could shut his eyes or avert his gaze. But physical actions wouldn’t matter; the blaze of golden glory was visible only in his soul, illuminating secrets and truth, and revealing them to Rakesh through the idealized, artificial mind of the Index.
Intangible pages scrolled past Rakesh’s vision, displaying the requested information in a dizzying array of information. He staggered, sinking down into the chair before the sheer volume of sealed records gave him a headache. He’d rather not lose his balance and smack his head on the edge of a table.
Again, he thought sheepishly, recalling the first time he’d activated his Skill. The rush of complicated details had overwhelmed him, and he’d fainted right in front of the [High Dean] of the SCA, earning eight stitches and a permanent wound to his pride.
His eyes flickered, inspecting the words as he scrutinized the findings for details that he could use to help the team. His eyebrows rose in alarm the more he read. He committed it all to memory, not daring to write it down where someone might find it. The money trail was damning: shady agreements with [Bandits] to harass and otherwise discourage the [Merchant] caravans who had braved the recent uptick in monster activity, a lucrative and constant stream of revenue from non-Guild [Alchemists], and an exclusive arrangement with a local [Healer] to shut down operations and care only for the [Lord] Dimitri.
“Non-Guild, hm? They’re bound to be less than reputable,” Rakesh mused. Yet if these were the depths of the secrets he’d uncovered, he wasn’t sure that he had much of a case. It didn’t paint a flattering picture of Mahkaiaraon’s ruler, but it was far from incendiary. Low level corruption was rampant in most districts. He wasn’t an [Inquisitor], tasked with rooting out the fraud and malfeasance of the nation.
Then, just as his grand Skill slowed down and the ethereal papers stopped flying by his sight, Rakesh concentrated on the final entry, dated that very morning, while he was strolling through the town trying to look uninteresting and unimportant.
“A marriage license?” Rakesh muttered, furrowing his brow as he stared down at the unexpected document. Pulling up his mental notes, he quickly confirmed that [Lord] Dimitri was in his eighties. While Dimitri was a powerful man by virtue of his position, he had never eclipsed the all-important second Threshold. Without that breakthrough, that meant the local [Lord] was a true octogenarian and not in the prime of his life. The benefits of ranking up included enjoying a double—or even greater—lifespan compared with the average person.
Marriage at [Lord] Dimitri’s advanced age made precious little sense. Even so, why keep it a secret? And why was [Pattern Matching: Overlooked Commonalities] blaring like a siren in the back of his head? All of the information he’d just read was likely connected. Rakesh had to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
He just hoped that he wasn’t too late. There wasn’t much he could do to help his friends, but he’d do his best. They were counting on him.
=+=
Rakesh sauntered out of the Mahkaiaraon library with a serene smile plastered on his face, but inwardly he seethed at his slow pace. He had less than half an hour to reach the temple where [Lord] Dimitri’s marriage was scheduled, but if he gave off the impression of hurrying, someone might notice. Ever since Avelina had told the team about the odd spying situation, he’d been on edge, unwilling to risk undue attention.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Relying on his excellent memory to recall the city map he’d memorized before leaving the library, Rakesh reviewed the information he’d gleaned as he walked. Someone had a vested interest in keeping the [Lord]’s activities secret. The potential smuggling and shady operations he could understand. Hiding the marriage? That muddied the waters, reducing his confidence in the conclusion that [Lord] Dimitri stood behind the clandestine operations.
Despite his foul mood, Rakesh reached his destination before anyone else arrived on the scene. He scoped out the temple on the corner, as well as the surrounding buildings on the corner of the town square. The temple was less ostentatious than expected; far from a towering structure, at first glance the squat, square shape appeared almost ordinary. The only giveaway was the material. Like the other important buildings in Mahkaiaraon, it was composed entirely of white marble and gold filigree.
He’d expected it to perch on a hilltop, overlooking the city and pronouncing its grandeur. Instead, the temple was plain, other than the white marble walls. No intricate carvings or stained glass, no elaborate paintings depicting scenes from antiquity, no cupola or steeple. Nestled in one of the bustling shopping districts, surrounded by a fragrant garden densely packed with golden flowers and a few plum trees, the word that came to mind was modest. A single walking trail bisected the flowers, and a small clearing made enough space for a stone bench out front, presumably so patrons could sit and meditate in the peaceful environment.
Street vendors hawked vegetables and fruits at a few stalls scattered nearby. Across the way, an apartment building dominated the street: three stories tall, drab gray stone, and as ugly as any building he’d ever seen. On the corner of the intersection, just opposite from the temple, a colorful bakery caught his eye. After he figured out what was going on, perhaps he’d stop in for a snack. Activating his secret Skill back in the library had worked up a ravenous appetite.
“Maybe a quick bite right now couldn’t hurt,” Rakesh said to himself, as if speaking his thoughts aloud gave him permission to sidetrack from his purpose. He glanced around to see if he could spot a tail following him, but no one seemed to pay him any attention. Perhaps he was bad at espionage. Or perhaps no one cared in the first place—the more likely conclusion, he admitted to himself with a wry chuckle.
Unwilling to be caught out in the open, Rakesh darted for the bakery he’d noticed. It was the perfect cover story in case someone was watching; he was hungry for lunch, and he could truthfully say he wanted to try the pastries.
The quaint, inviting bakery wasn’t a particularly large shop, but he couldn’t help but think that if it were a person, it would be a [Parade Officer] in the Army. It carried itself with a sort of charming splendor that belied its size. Boasting a broad, beautiful window polished clean of fingerprints and set deep into the stone store front, the shop proudly displayed its delicious wares for passersby to tempt them inside. To the right of the wide window—which Rakesh was sure would impress even his glass-making friends—an iron-banded wooden door with a secondary curved window inset at the top stood out thanks to its vibrant green paint.
He pushed open the door without a sound, nodding in approval at the well-oiled hinges, and let his nose lead him into the warm, fragrant interior. Inside, the bakery was bright and inviting. He sighed, savoring the smell of fresh bread baking in the oven. The walls were lined with shelves of baked goods, from simple loaves of braided bread to more elaborate, jam-filled pastries and what looked like almond cakes.
“What will it be today?”
Rakesh startled, looking up from the tray of pastries he’d been admiring. “Garlic toast if you have any, Ma’am.”
“I do. A whole loaf, or just a plate to eat in the shop?” the matronly [Baker] asked. Her eyes almost disappeared when she smiled at Rakesh.
“A plate. I’ll eat here. Mind if I sit by the window?” Rakesh asked, gesturing to an empty, circular table in the corner. It stood nearly chest-high, and only had room for two people to sit on the pair of high stools flanking it. Perfect for snooping on the temple.
“Of course! Make yourself comfortable, young man. Old Anne will bring you food on the double. How about a cinnamon twist for dessert?” Anne clapped her hands and beamed at him, not waiting for a reply, and scurried back behind the counter to prepare his meal.
He smiled awkwardly as the [Baker] sent up a cloud of flour, and eased himself up onto the stool, sitting at an angle so that he could keep one eye on the proceedings without giving away that he was spying on the proceedings. [Lord] Dimitri’s entourage. [Guards] didn’t take kindly to interlopers, he’d discovered.
“There! Eat, lad. You need some meat on them poor bones,” Anne declared, setting his plate of garlic toast and cinnamon twists down in the center of the table. She placed a napkin and a set of cutlery next to him, smiled until her cheeks crinkled and covered her eyes again, and bustled away to help another customer.
Murmuring his thanks in what he hoped was a pleasant manner, Rakesh withdrew his notebook and opened it . He picked up the butter knife Anne had brought him, placed it against the inner lining of the notebook, and sliced along the inside of the narrow book’s spine. The knife proved too dull to cut out the page, but it left a mark, scoring the paper. He tugged gently on the corner of the paper, ripping it along the vulnerable crease he’d created, and soon pulled the sheet free.
He fiddled with the edges, lining up and folding the paper in a series of quick, practiced twists of his wrists, all the while muttering to himself under his breath. Within a few moments, a slender paper bird emerged, wrought entirely of clever folds. Rakesh turned it in his hands for a quick inspection, nodding to himself in satisfaction. He’d been practicing this technique ever since he’d read about it in one of the journal articles from the Index. Apparently, it was quite the popular display of skill in a country to the far West, whose name he couldn’t recall.
“Fly for me, little birdie,” Rakesh murmured. He held up a hand to Anne, who waved in acknowledgment, and slipped out the door, leaving his notebook on the table next to his food to keep his spot so that no one would take his important vantage point.
“[Echo of the Songbird],” he invoked, whispering into the paper construct as he strode across the street and circled the path around the temple, stopping to bend down every so often to smell the flowers. When he drew near the doorway, he tucked the folded paper bird inside, behind the open door where it should remain out of sight, and finished his circuit of the grounds. He plucked a plum on the way out, glad it was encouraged by the nature-lovers in the temple.
Reading paid off. He knew more about their customs than most, although he had little real interest in religion. They invited people to wander the gardens and pay homage to growing things. Eating the fruit was encouraged, as long as no one took too many. Sharing the bounty of the earth was vital to their beliefs.
Thankfully, so are short services.
Moments after Rakesh regained his seat, four guards with [Lord] Dimitri’s sigil marched down the street toward the temple. The vanguard of a small procession, they cleared the way for an oversized, black-painted carriage that could only house the [Lord] himself.
According to the map in the library, the temple was tucked away in a quiet corner of Mahkaiaraon, away from watchful eyes. Hardly befitting the [Lord]’s status, unless he’s trying to hide today’s activities.
A few of the [Guards] bristled when townsfolk drew too close. One glanced his way, and Rakesh sucked in a sudden breath, fighting off a wave of fear. He wasn’t an adventurer like the others in the team. They seemed to thrive on this. They lived for the derring do, but he wasn’t cut out for a life of excitement and danger.
Then he recalled that he was simply dining in a bakery. He didn’t stand out. He had nothing to fear, as long as he didn’t act suspicious. Sure enough, the [Guard]’s gaze passed over him with barely any hesitation. The heavily-armed man didn’t even seem to acknowledge him, too busy directing traffic to spare another glance at a young man eating garlic bread.
The procession stopped in front of the temple, and four more [Guards] brought up the rear, taking their positions to keep people away. A servant hopped down from the front seat, trotted to the back of the carriage, and pulled a lever. Twin doors opened as the entire back of the carriage swung open and a ramp descended.
An old man in a wheeled chair rolled down the ramp, attended by a far younger woman who held onto handles. She braced herself against the weight of the contraption, moving with slow, measured steps as she gently lowered him down to the cobblestones. As soon as the chair reached the ground, she leaned down to kiss the elderly [Lord] of the city on the cheek, and then wheeled him inside the temple. The train of her dress fluttered in the soft breeze.
Rakesh raised his eyebrows. The woman was older than his teammates, but not as old as Ezio. How had the two of them fallen in love? He pondered the strange situation, chewing on a crusty bit of garlic bread while he waited for the festivities to commence.
“Welcome to the [Lord] and his soon-to-be Lady on this most auspicious day! Long have we awaited your nuptials,” a shrill voice said in his head. He winced. [Echo of the Songbird] was a brilliant spell, but he had to rank up the Skill if he wanted to moderate the volume.
“Are you mocking my age?” [Lord] Dimitri snapped. Then he cackled with laughter. “Oh, relax, Silvetti. Always so serious! Let’s just get on with things. My afternoon nap awaits.”
“Your excellency is the soul of humor, as always.”
Rakesh suppressed a snort. The priest—Silvetti, apparently—spoke in the flattest, most humorless tone he’d ever heard. In fact, the man sounded like he was staring down the maw of a beast. Perhaps he opposed the marriage, despite the [Lord]’s patronage?
“Don’t fret, love. We’ll be done soon,” the unknown woman chimed in. “Right, Silvetti? You only need our signatures, don’t you?”
“I will bind your souls together. The signature is a mundane job, fit for the city [Clerk],” Silvetti replied more confidently, seeming to find his backbone. “Now, approach, and I will initiate you into the mysteries of blessed union.”
“Exciting,” [Lord] Dimitri drawled.
Rakesh finished his garlic bread, and absently reached for the cinnamon twist. He lifted it to his mouth and bit into it mechanically, sitting up at the rush of flavor. Anne certainly knew what she was doing. A distant part of him felt wrong for violating their privacy, but he wanted to know what was going on. Something didn’t add up.
Silvetti’s voice droned on for a few short minutes, expounding on both the sweet joy and solemn duty of matrimony, and he soon pronounced the couple bound to one another. Another voice joined him, introducing himself as the aforementioned city [Clerk], and the scratch of pen on paper announced that they’d signed the license.
“That’s it, right?” the woman asked, her tone far sharper than before. “This takes effect immediately?”
“Yes, of course, your excellency,” the [Clerk] assured her. “I’ve already filed with the city. [Long-Range Paperwork]. My Threshold Skill! Very handy for late nights when I have to rush to get home for dinner with the missus, but I still have work to do—”
“I don’t care,” the woman cut him off frostily. “With this ceremony and seal, I am the legal guardian and heir now?”
“You are,” the [Clerk] confirmed.
Rakesh coughed, choking on a bite of cinnamon twist, and he snatched up the glass of water that Anne had brought over while he was distracted. A quick gulp cleared his throat, but not his cynicism. So that was her angle for marrying the old [Lord]. Love had nothing to do with it at all. For some reason, the thought made him angry, even though he didn’t care about Dimitri one whit. It wasn’t right.
He strode over to the counter and settled up his bill, overflowing with righteous indignation. Something was rotten in Mahkaiaraon, all right. He wondered how many layers deep the deception ran, or if they had time to get to the bottom of it all.
To answer that question, he would need to get his hands on [Lord] Dimitri’s personal records. Alas, the Index was not omniscient—and his great Skill took weeks to recharge. He would have to find an alternate means to gain access. Maybe Nuri or Lionel will have an idea. They’re clever. And Melina missed her calling as a [Scholar]. She’ll help me analyze the information.
More composed now, Rakesh straightened his robes, slipped out of the bakery, and headed back to the library. He hoped the rest of the team was faring better than he was, but it didn’t seem terribly likely. Trouble always followed in Nuri’s wake.