Andrei, Delphia

After playing a fun game of, “Fancy meeting you here,” Sinclair opened the burlap bag and handed me the first of several objects—a pair of black trousers. She insisted I put them on, along with a wrinkled white shirt and a purple cloak. Time was of the essence, so I slipped on the trousers underneath my robes. They were too loose around the waist and too short for my legs, but they would have to suffice—for whatever.

Before disrobing, I closed the cupboard door.

“Really?” Sinclair said. “Are we twelve?”

“What, were you hoping to watch?”

“It’s the little things in life, Strauss.”

I was flattered, but I was also self-conscious. I’d been malnourished for the majority of my life. I didn't think she'd be missing much.

The cupboard remained closed while I undressed and slipped the white shirt over my head. By the time she opened the door again, I was adjusting my ponytail. I didn’t need to ask about the attire; everything was identical to the uniforms of those working for the Liaison.

“It might be important to know the Liaison is in the dining room enjoying lunch and not touring the Councilwoman through the city,” I said.

Sinclair nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment, and I looked away because it was easier than trying not to stare.

“Eh—it’s not ideal, but it doesn’t change much," she said. “You’ll just have to be even more careful.”

“Be even more careful while doing what?” I asked. “I’ve been patient so far, but shouldn’t I know why I’m here at this point?”

“Did they mention how long the Liaison would take to enjoy his lunch?”

“About half—”

“Shush,” Sinclair interrupted.

“Would you like me to answer your question, or would you like me to shush?”

“Someone’s coming,” she said, squirreling herself and the purple cloak away in the cupboard.

Only once I was listening for them did I hear the footsteps coming down the corridor.

It was too late to get changed, so I slid my robes over my disguise and did what I could to cover the evidence. Rushing for the floral-print chair, I settled into a casual sitting position and brushed back any flyaway hairs.

The door opened, and the butler stepped inside, carrying a tray with a teapot, teacup, and an assortment of finger biscuits. I smiled politely—I hoped.

“The Liaison apologizes for the delay, Petitioner Stroos. He is eager for the opportunity to thank you for your service in person, and he hopes these refreshments will be enough to keep you for just a little while longer.” He set the tray down on the table beside me.

“I’m honoured,” I said. “Please tell the Liaison I appreciate his generosity. I am feeling rather peckish.”

“We hope everything is to your taste. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

There wasn’t. The butler bowed, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

Considering the snacks, the strawberry wafers looked especially appetizing.

The cupboard door opened. “Don’t eat or drink any of that,” Sinclair whispered.

“Why not?” I asked, eying the wafer in my hand.

“On account of the Liaison is a traitorous nut-job. It’s probably poisoned.”

“Sinclair, it’s statistically unreasonable to believe everything has been poisoned.”

“Did you hear what I said about the man being a traitorous nut-job?”

My stomach grumbled, but I placed the wafer back on the tray and returned to the closet. I handed Sinclair my robes in exchange for the cloak and the last few objects in the bag.

“The key is for a room somewhere in this place,” she said. “I need you to find it and release the Amali guards. Give them this—”

Sinclair slipped something into my pants pocket. My posture stiffened.

“And this—” She passed me two sheets of parchment next. Release papers, signed and sealed by the Liaison, and the permissions for an embark back to Palisade, signed and sealed by Councilwoman Blanchett. “Tell them to return to the Drop, talk to absolutely no one, and get their arses back to Palisade. If they’re already dead, or if you can’t find them in a reasonable amount of time, I need you to hang on to everything, return to the church, and carry on business as usual. Questions?”

I had so many questions, but none were about the steps she’d given me. “Find the room and the guards, give them the message and everything they’ll need. If all fails, return to the church and act normal.”

Sinclair nodded. “If you’re alone and it feels right, rely on your disguise to get the hells out as quickly, and as safely, as possible. I shouldn't have to tell you this, but flip the hood up and don't look at anyone.”

On my brief tour of the estate, I’d spotted at least two other exits besides the front door. There were, too, plenty of open doors and windows.

“Otherwise,” Sinclair continued. “If the guards are with you, or if it’ll be too risky to leave any other way, you’ll have to escape through the secret passage.”

“Secret passage?”

“Behind the bookcase out in the hallway,” she said. “Truth is, I expected to come out somewhere more creative than that, but some things never change. The passage will take you straight into the defects’ lair, but if everything goes according to plan, nobody dangerous should be there.”

“Just like the Liaison wasn’t supposed to be here?”

“Oi, let’s not forget whose intel that was,” Sinclair said with a quiet chuckle.

What could I say?

“There’ll be a hatch leading up into a house across the street,” Sinclair continued. “The man standing guard is a friend. He’ll be expecting you.”

“The Celestian?” I asked.

“How do you know Riz? Actually, never mind—no time. Not Riz. He’ll look like a Barren.”

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Look like? I couldn’t help but wonder. “Is that everything?”

Sinclair nodded.

“The Liaison will return to his office and find me gone,” I said. “What then?”

“You’ll be gone, so…”

“Yes, but won’t it seem suspicious?” I asked. “I'm here to have my papers signed, and nobody will have seen me leave.”

“Uhh—”

Shaking my head, I made my way over to the Liaison’s desk and found a blank sheet of parchment and a pen. It was a relatively recent invention from the Isle of Tuition, and I regretted not purchasing one for myself sooner. Given everything, I doubted I’d have the chance to do so before returning to Palisade. But I digress. I set the paper folder down on the desk and began writing:

Esteemed Liaison Delaire,

Thank you for your hospitality, although I regret having been unable to wait. If you could, at your soonest convenience, apply your signature and seal to my release, I will see to collecting the documents before my departure.

Palisade’s in service,

Petitioner Andrei Strauss

ASTR13

To make everything more believable, I poured half a cup of tea, selected a few biscuits from the tray, and stored them away in my pocket.

Once I finished setting the scene, Sinclair beckoned me. “One last thing before you go.”

Sighing, I stepped in toward her. What more could there possibly be?

Sinclair shuffled in place, glancing left before looking up at me. “All right, look, Strauss. After all these years, I never thought I’d get the chance to meet you in person, and now that I have, I’ve realized I might never see you again. So, I just wanted to say that I’ve been lucky to know you, and thanks for trusting me, and—” she pressed her lips together, moistening them before swallowing heavily. Crooking her fingers, she beckoned me closer, as if she wanted to share a secret. I bent at the waist, and before I knew it, she tugged at the collar of my shirt, pulled me in toward her.

It was the single greatest moment of my life up to that point. Not only because it marked the culmination of our affection for one another, but because it was a moment where nothing else mattered but the moment. Years of anxiety, self-doubt, and uncertainty melted away as I kissed her back. Neither of us had any idea what we were doing, but neither of us knew any better either way. My fingers grazed her cheek, memorizing the contours of her face until, as suddenly as it began, the moment was over.

I’d hardly wrapped my head around what was happening by the time we opened our eyes, and instead of gazing into hers, I stared straight into the woodgrain of the closet door.

Even the bravest souls have their limits.

----------------------------------------

If it weren’t for the excellent hearing, I may not have heard the muffled sobs behind the door down the hall. The key was a perfect fit. I glanced over my shoulder and stepped into the room, closing the door behind me.

The room itself was cold, undecorated, and lit by a single torch. A storage room, and I suspected the Liaison didn’t have anywhere more suitable for holding secret prisoners. But where I’d expected to see two Amali guards, there were only two empty chairs and a scared Barren man sitting in the third. Rushing forward, I lowered the gag from around his mouth and untied the restraints from around his arms and legs.

“Guardsman Deville?”

The man sniffled, stretched his jaw, and nodded.

“There isn't much time," I said. "But before we go, are you able to answer a few questions?”

Deville nodded again. “For a prisoner, they’ve treated me well. Hoping to break me down—hoping they could sway my loyalties. Not like the others.”

“Others?”

“Partisans—Amali, I think.” Deville paused, looking me over. “I’m sorry if they were comrades of yours. I—I don’t know where they took them, but if we’re being honest, I don’t think they survived.”

My left cheek twitched. I formed a tight fist and nodded. “Why is the Liaison keeping you prisoner, and what did you mean by loyalties?”

“There was talk of rebellion,” Deville said. “Whisperings of an underground operation being supported by the Liaison using siphoned funds. Most of the rumours were easy to believe—it’s no secret there is a subsect of conflicted people. But I couldn’t believe the Liaison would be involved with them. It must have been an effort to smear his good name. I’d devoted my entire career to him. I trusted him, so I went to him with what I’d heard, and he confessed everything. But when I refused to have any part…”

The rest went without saying. “Thank you,” I said. “I’d like to get you home safely to your family, and some of what may happen next may seem unconventional. Are you prepared to follow my lead?”

Deville nodded. “I am indebted to you, Blessed One.”

While I hadn’t located the Amali guards, I had located a guard. Should we try escaping from one of the side exits, or was the secret passage still on the table? It seemed the safest bet. Anywhere else would require stealthy maneuvering, whereas the bookcase was just down the hall. Besides, I would have heard someone walking down the corridor. The Liaison hadn’t returned to his office yet. There was still time.

It wasn’t until we arrived at the dead-end I realized I'd neglected to ask an important question. There were no handles, levers, or other obvious methods to trigger the passage. Careful not to over-extend my strength, I tried pulling on the bookcase. It shifted, but it didn't open. Guardsman Deville remained silent and obedient as ordered, although he seemed understandably perplexed.

In the near distance, a door opened and closed. Two sets of footsteps followed.

“Everything is in place?” said a man—a Delphi, no doubt.

“They won’t see it coming,” said the other. His voice was familiar, and while his accent wasn't as obvious, I pegged him for a Delphi as well. "The underground is prepared to do what's necessary."

The first man laughed. “Now, I must attend to the dead Petitioner in my office, and I will leave you to do whatever you desire with Deville.”

As they approached, my heart began racing and my hands started sweating. I thought of the biscuits in my pocket, and how Sinclair’s paranoia most likely saved my life. I imagined Deville felt a similar sense of relief somewhere beneath the panic.

The men paused, while I honed in on the sound of jingling keys.

“Can I see him?” the second man asked.

“Yes, yes,” the Liaison said. “As soon as I remember which key it is.”

I tried the door opposite the Liaison’s office. Locked. Sinclair was counting on me. Guardsman Deville was counting on me. By the sounds of things, I’d found him just in time, but now what?

“Not Deville,” the unknown man said. “I’m referring to the dead mutt in your office. They should have drowned him the minute he was born, like all the other mixed-breed abominations. I want to see the look on his pathetic, pasty face.”

The Liaison laughed again.

My heart rate tripled, and my left cheek began twitching uncontrollably. I wiped my palms on my pants. They were closing in on us, and what could we do? I could cause a distraction. I glanced over my shoulder toward the bookcase and then around the corridor. The sconces, I thought. I could extinguish one. The confusion might buy us some time, and then we could turn into the Liaison’s office and escape out the window.

I recalled everything I’d learned about elemental manipulation, which was next to nothing, and I directed my thoughts toward the flame at the end of the hallway. The fire sputtered, flickered, but it wasn’t enough. The footsteps paused, but only for a moment, and I did everything I could to ignore my trembling hands and the sweat pouring past my brow and into my eyes. I had to concentrate, but not too much, or...

...the men turned the corner as the first sconce exploded, and then the other, and then another. The flames caught the starched, puffy sleeves of the Liaison’s shirt and the thick purple tapestry on the wall. Guttural cries cut through the chaos, echoing through the corridor as the fire grew bigger and bigger, spreading from one man to the next. My panicking only made matters worse. I caught the horrified expression of the Liaison as the flames completely engulfed him and his companion who I now recognized as one of the defectors who'd tried to steal the Tear.

So much for the dead mutt, I mused, my thoughts wavering between fear, vindication, and guilt. Guardsman Deville stood stunned by the surprising turn of events. Unconventional was putting it lightly.

I tried the door to the Liaison's office next. Locked. Had Sinclair done it from the other side? Did it lock automatically when I left? I banged on the door, but to no avail. I could have broken it down, but there are sayings about hindsight for a reason. "Fire!" I shouted a warning through the door. We were running out of time. Turning to the bookcase, I recalled something I’d once read. Haphazardly, I pulled books from the shelves, tossing them to the ground. More kindling for the fire that was working its way toward us. Finally, a satisfying click when I triggered the mechanism, and the bookcase swung open—clipping the guardsman in the back. It was enough to pull him from his trance.

With little time to spare as the fire creeped in, we bolted through the secret passage, leaving the smell of burning flesh behind us.