Andrei, Delphia

Sinclair had been successful in assuaging my guilt much more quickly than I would have on my own, but it’s important to know that I would have come to terms on my own. After all, I had a laundry list of prior experiences in similar disasters. I had become rather adept at separating myself from my long-term feelings, but one can have thoughts without feelings, and I was hyperaware of what had happened, how many may have been affected, and what the consequences might be.

Within minutes of leaving the Deville’s, I learned that five men—including the Liaison—had perished in the fire. On the isle, the celebrations around the Councilwoman’s arrival from Palisade had come to a halt, but the chaos in the streets seemed to have nevertheless increased threefold. The rumours ran rampant. “I’ve heard there was foul play,” and, “Who would want the Liaison dead? After everything he’s done for us,” and, “It was probably a careless servant. They just don’t make them like they used to.”

With the estate in shambles, Sinclair and I reasoned the Councilwoman wouldn’t be spending the night there. After concluding she may instead choose to stay at the church, Sinclair prepared me for an eventual encounter with Adelaide Blanchett. We couldn’t know who had survived or what they had discovered about the fire. We had to consider all the variables.

My knowledge was limited on the topic of telepathy and how to circumvent it, but Sinclair was an expert on the subject. Before leaving the Deville's, she briefed me as best she could, and as I weaved through the crowds on my way back to the church, I recalled the lessons.

"You have surface thoughts and deep thoughts. We don't have enough time to practice hiding your deep thoughts. The best we can hope for is getting your surface thoughts under control."

This wasn't exactly encouraging.

“The worst thing you can do is try confusing her. If she’s questioning you about the fire and you’re thinking about ponies, or the weather, or marshmallows, it’ll seem suspicious. Unless you’re thinking about roasting marshmallows—then maybe you’re just a hungry opportunist."

This wasn't exactly comforting.

"But on the flip side, not thinking about random things at all is equally suspicious. Most folks have multiple thoughts happening in their heads at one time. The key is to think about ponies or marshmallows here and there, but only for a second.”

I wondered how best to prevent thinking about her lessons. We hadn’t covered that.

“The second worst thing you can do is lie. If the Councilwoman already knows you were at the estate, thinking about how you weren’t at the estate won’t look good. The key to tricking a telepath is thinking in plausible half-truths. In order to know what she knows, you’ll need to pay close attention and ask careful questions.”

At this point, I hoped I could avoid her altogether.

“Last thing, it’s no secret she’s a telepath. Worrying about what she might find in your head is to be expected. Guilty of arson or not, everyone has things they’re trying to hide. If you’re not anxious around her, it’ll seem suspicious. You can probably use that to your advantage.”

Internalizing everything I’d learned with a deep breath, I compiled her advice. In summation: be uncomfortable but not too uncomfortable. Ask questions, listen well, anticipate what she knows. Come up with plausible half-truths and think about them, but also think about random things sometimes, but not too often.

In short, I was doomed.

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Stepping through the double doors of the church, I’d expected it to look different somehow. But everything was just as I’d left it: busy, bright, and bursting with purple flowers. There was no Councilwoman Blanchett as far as I could see, and Brother Delasalle greeted me with a warm—albeit distracted—smile. Perhaps if I just kept walking, I could make it to my chambers uninterrupted, and then it would only be a matter of hiding out until it was time to leave this cursed territory.

“Petitioner Strauss.”

Well, so much for that.

“Brother Delasalle,” I replied, turning on my heel.

“I’m glad to see you back safely. I know you were on your way to the estate to have your release papers signed this afternoon—isn’t it just awful?”

I nodded, and those around us carried on their own conversations on the topic.

“They say it will take months, perhaps even years, to recover the damages,” Delasalle said.

Again, I nodded. “A tragedy all around.”

“Did you see it?” he asked.

“See what?”

“The fire.”

“Right, of course,” I said. “No, I didn’t see it.”

But then where had I been all this time?

“After leaving the estate, I privileged myself to walkabout through the festivities," I added.

The Brother nodded. “Understandable. You are leaving soon, after all.”

Fortunately.

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, I shouldn't keep you any longer, Petitioner..."

I nodded, preparing to turn on my heel once more.

“...but before you go, I should mention you have a visitor in your chambers.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Oh?” I asked.

“She’s quite shaken, as you can imagine. But she wanted to secure an opportunity to see how you’ve enjoyed your stay in her territory.”

“Oh.” I said. “That’s very kind of… the Councilwoman.”

My mentor smiled.

As clergy, Brother Delasalle was forbidden from using telepathy on anyone without their explicit permission. Therefore, I was confident I’d passed this leg of the gauntlet. But as for what would come next?

Well, I was doomed.

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Having faced several trials in front of the Assembly, I was no stranger to its members, and Councilwoman Blanchett was no exception. However, in the past, I was guilty, and it was obvious. Everybody knew it, and I wasn’t trying to fool anyone.

I took my time walking up the three flights of stairs to my chambers.

Don’t think too much, don’t think too much, think just enough, think just enough. Ponies, marshmallows, fire, ponies…

Sinclair’s advice was no doubt valid, but I wondered if there was another method I could employ—what if I took on a role? The role of a man who went to get his release papers signed, saw nothing out of the ordinary, left, and spent the rest of the afternoon among the revelers? What if I convinced myself it were true? Then perhaps I could convince her, too.

Sinclair’s voice echoed in my head. “The second worst thing you can do is lie.”

But then again, “The key to tricking a telepath is thinking in plausible half-truths.”

How was I supposed to think plausible half truths while not lying? Why hadn’t I asked more questions? My heart battered against my chest as I passed a pair of sconces on the wall. As soon as I opened the door, there’d be no hope of avoiding the encounter with the Councilwoman.

Why stop with the estate? Perhaps I should set the church on fire, too.

Steeling myself, I reached for the handle and turned. There was no going back.

Behind the door, Councilwoman Blanchett seemed right at home—seated at my desk while flipping through the pages of my journal.

At this rate, I may as well publish it.

If I were forced at gunpoint to say one thing positive about Adelaide Blanchett, it would be a shallow compliment to her beauty. There wasn’t a curl out of place, and the fiery shades were a stunning contrast against her milky complexion. It was almost as though an artist had meticulously dotted each of the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks.

Beautiful, but she didn’t appear particularly shaken. She smiled when she saw me.

The door clicked shut at the same time she closed my journal.

“Your penmanship is lovely,” she said, patting the cover. “If only I’d known, I’d have asked Zelda to borrow you. My secretaries are always so sloppy—bless their well-meaning hearts.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said.

Ponies.

The Councilwoman cocked her head. “So—how have you enjoyed your stay in Delphia, darling?”

“Well,” I said, all the while trying to decide what to do with my hands. I was certain that hiding them in my pockets would be poor etiquette. For the time being, I held my arms stiffly at my sides. “The weather is wonderful and the people have been incredibly welcoming.”

“Fantastic,” she said. “Although I’m deeply sorry that you’ll not be getting the celebratory ending to your pilgrimage you may have been hoping for. The people are in shock, the Liaison is dead, and the reason I’m here—the one remaining drop of hope my people have—has gone missing. Have you heard?”

“Unfortunately,” I said. It wasn’t a secret I was with the Amali guards the night of the theft, and with the Liaison no longer being around to cover anything up, there was no reason Brother Delasalle wouldn’t have filled her in. “I wish I could have done more to prevent it from happening. The Liaison was certain he would find it. My condolences, by the way.”

The very fact she didn’t question why or how I could have prevented a theft she wasn’t even certain I knew about told me I’d passed her first test.

Why have I never noticed the cobwebs in the corner? I should clean before I go.

“Thank you for your kind words,” the Councilwoman said. “The Liaison was a good man and a dear friend. He’s worked with me for many years and was hand-picked for a reason.”

Certainly not for his loyalty or his taste in fashion. I’ll have to borrow a ladder for those cobwebs.

“From what I’ve heard, the people held him in high regard as well," I said. "It has certainly been a blow.”

The Councilwoman nodded. “I understand you were there this afternoon. How eerie that must be for you, dodging a bullet like that."

“Fortuitous timing,” I agreed. Then, as though I'd suddenly remembered something, I slid my hand into the pocket where I carried my release papers—the ones Finlay forged. Casually, I set the sealed pages on the desk.

The Councilwoman spared a glance, but seemed otherwise uninterested. “Several witnesses report seeing two Strachan escaping out the window just before the fire broke loose. Did you see anything like that when you were there, Petitioner Strauss?”

I thought of the journal on my desk, and the conversation I’d had with Sinclair in the garden.

Do you really think I’m beautiful?

“The only Strachan I’ve seen are Rhian Sinclair and Feargus Finlay,” I said. “They stayed with me their first night on the isle.”

“Do you have any idea where they may have been staying since?”

“No, I—I’m afraid not.” I shook my head slowly.

I wonder how many stone bricks it took to build this church.

“Our lines of business don’t exactly meet in the middle,” I added.

Once Finlay had read it, I’d ceased writing anything about him or Sinclair in my journal. Another metaphorical bullet dodged.

“That’s true, of course.” The Councilwoman nodded. “And you wouldn’t have any reason to cover for them, would you? Such as, oh—inappropriate feelings for one of them?”

“Inappropriate… feelings?”

The Councilwoman patted my journal.

Marshmallow ponies.

I furrowed my brow. “You couldn’t possibly mean the comment about Sinclair being beautiful? I wouldn’t call stating a fact inappropriate.”

After holding her inquisitive stare for what felt like a century, the Councilwoman nodded and stood. “I never intended to turn this encounter into an interrogation, Petitioner Strauss, so I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

“I can’t imagine you were,” I said, stepping aside to allow her clear passage to the door. “No apologies necessary. I understand.”

Before leaving, she turned to me one last time. “In light of everything that’s happened, I’ll be addressing the public tomorrow afternoon. I hope to see you there?”

I nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

The Councilwoman smiled, flashing a full set of pearly whites. “Excellent. I'll be staying at the church tonight, and you’ll have until tomorrow to tell me the truth about your Strachan friends. It was lovely seeing you again, Petitioner Strauss.”

"Likewise," I said.

Where had things gone wrong? Perhaps I should have asked careful questions.