Salvador sat down on the bench outside the big white building which housed the university’s conservatory. He used his feet to remove his loafers, then pulled off his socks to press his bare feet into the grass.

Like that, he ate the plain sack lunch he made for himself at home, before driving his new automobile to work. It was a sandwich with cheese, plenty of salami, lettuce, pickles, and a generous helping of mayo and mustard. No tomato, he disliked sliced tomato on his sandwiches.

He listened to the patchwork sounds of singing and other music that emerged from multiple classes running simultaneously within.

Salvador could never find a way to put his mind to learning music himself, but his mother had been a great singer. The sound reminded him of his village, now far across the sea from him.

Sometimes he thought about returning home, but it had been devastated in the war, and he didn’t want to see what had become of the place. He had seen too many fields pitted by artillery shells. Too many villages bombed by air.

His childhood fascinations with the, at the time novel, field of aeronautics, only kept all the horrible reality of that killing that much more present to him now. He could see all the calculations before him, the weight of the payload, the airspeed, elevation, distance to target.

…

Salvador preferred his memories of warm summer evenings at his family hacienda. Drinking vino with his grandfather on the balcony, overlooking the vineyards where his family had grown wine for hundreds of years.

In the last letter from his brother, it said that he and his family had returned to the old house. His partisan unit had joined the government, once it clear the Nationalists would remain in power, so long as they turned against their Teutonian erstwhile allies.

After the fighting was over, their family land was returned to him in the general amnesty. The house was a ruin, and the fields were devastated. But buildings could be repaired, and land could be made fertile once more.

His brother was an important man, and made some noises about arranging an offer of amnesty for him as well. Salvador sincerely wished his brother well, but he had already come to terms with the fact that he would never return to his native country again.

“Professor Devalance?” He recognized the woman by her voice.

“I’m only an instructor here, Maria. Not a professor.”

“Instructor Devalance?” she tried again.

“I prefer magister.” He remained implacable.

“I’m sorry magister, I-” she stopped again when she heard him laughing.

“I’m only joking, kid. Call me what you like- well… not whatever you like. But whatever you like, within reason. How can I help you?” Salvador finished the last bite of his lunch and turned to face her.

Maria had come up behind where he was sitting, with a bundle of books and notes in her arms. She was a graduate student here, assisting him in cataloging the artifacts from Dr. Pinastel’s excavation at the museum.

She dressed conservatively, but Salvador suspected that she might have a fine figure beneath them. It was possible she could a model if she loosened up some. She wore glasses and kept her chestnut brown hair tied back in a severe style, which she likely intended to discourage the interest of her male peers.

She hadn’t yet reckoned with the fact that Salvador was incorrigible by nature.

“The crates have been delivered.”

“Hm?” Salvador had lost himself in his own daydreams.

He refocused himself.

“The latest shipment from Dr. Pinastel has been unloaded and delivered to the museum.”

“Oh, yes.” Salvador checked his silver pocket watch. “It’s still thirty-five till one. Enjoy the rest of your lunch break, and we’ll get started once I get back.”

“Right.” Maria watched him awkwardly for a moment, then nodded and walked away.

Salvador supposed she had wanted him to go with her and begin work immediately. In fact – despite what he had told her to do – he wouldn’t have been surprised if she was going to begin work immediately anyway. She was still new enough to be impressed by a few several thousand-year-old pieces of pottery.

In his mind, if they had sat for that long, they would wait until he had finished his lunch break.

Salvador walked back to work slowly.

The campus bell tower was already ringing one o clock, but the museum was right across the street, and he was in no danger of losing his position. His job with the National Museum had been arranged for him by clandestine departments in the government when he first came to live in the Republic.

It matched his education, but it was mostly just a cover to keep him on the payroll under. At least it left him the free time to follow his personal pursuits, teach a few classes at the university each semester, write a few books… simple pleasures.

Maria was standing uncomfortably outside his office when he arrived there at six past one. “What are you waiting out here for? Didn’t I leave it unlocked for you?”

“There’s a- ah- woman… inside. She said that she’s waiting for you.” Whoever it was had left a strong impression on the girl.

Salvador thought he knew exactly who that sounded like. “Right. Maybe you had better take the rest of the day off.”

Salvador threw open the door, and his prediction was correct. A slip of a woman, with more presence than many men twice her size, sat in his chair smoking one of his cigarettes.

She was beautiful... but he didn’t let himself start thinking about her that way.

Jenny wielded sex like a cudgel.

As far as he was concerned, she was a lump of dough in a pencil skirt.

Salvador went to his drinks cabinet and began assembling a martini, without waiting to ask if she wanted one.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“Hello, Sal.”

“Hello, Jenny.” He poured the cocktail from the shaker into the glass carefully, with precision. He dropped in an olive for the vitamins, and handed it over to her.

She took a sip, and seemed satisfied, so he began to make a second for himself.

“Why do I hold the pleasure of hosting military intelligence this evening?” Salvador considered it best to simply be direct with her.

“We need you for a job.”

“I already knew as much, or you wouldn’t be here. You don’t make social calls, kid.”

She smiled sourly, then washed the look off with a drink from her martini. “We’ve been keeping it out of the news. But there was a break-in at the home of Dr. Kohler. Local police responded to reports of a disturbance. When they arrived, they found the front door smashed in. There were signs of a struggle inside, but no signs of the owner.”

“Dr. Herman Kohler? The anthropologist and linguistics expert?”

“That’s right. You attended some conferences together, according to our records. Can you recognize him by sight?"

"Yes."

"Good. Your familiarity was one of the reasons you were chosen for this assignment.” Jenny was deliberately trying to be insufferable.

“Listen, this assignment may have been chosen for me, but it remains to be seen if I’ll be choosing this assignment. So far it sounds like the regular police should be handling this.”

“In addition to his regular academic activities, he was also handling a private matter for us.”

“There’s the other shoe! I was waiting for her to drop.” Salvador smiled at his own joke, even if his guest didn’t.

“The object, which was the subject of all his research, was taken. Along with his notes. There were money and other valuables left in the house. The whole thing was too targeted to be a normal burglary.”

He emptied his glass. “So, you think he was snatched up by someone on the other side. And you want me to get him back, hopefully along with all his research and this artifact. Is that about the long and the short of it?”

“Just about, yes. Except that you placed your objectives in the reverse order. The object in question is a large sealed clay jar. It’s covered in strange warding runes, using an obscure Sylvan dialect from south of the ‘Endless’ Desert, mixed with ancient Draconic. Your orders are to recover it, if at all possible. But to deny its use to any foreign power, by any means necessary. Then to do the same for Dr. Kohler’s research notes. And only then, the to do the same for the man himself.”

“I see.”

“You’re being granted a license to kill for this operation. The Doge is taking no chances with this one. The foreign secretary and the Chief are overseeing everything personally.”

“It goes that high up? And they still chose you as a handler?”

“They wanted you as their agent, and they knew that you couldn’t say no to me.”

Salvador felt his chin. He needed a shave. “Who do they think grabbed him?”

“Elves.”

“Elves? What do they want with this thing?”

“We’re not sure. We’ve been tracking a special operations team that ‘secretly but not-so-secretly’ came over the border from the Redland weeks ago. They were just holed up that whole time, and we weren’t sure what they were there for. The night of the kidnapping, they vanished. We haven’t picked them up since, and the flat they rented is empty now. We’ve been watching all their pipelines across the border we know about. Nothing has come across yet.”

“Any other information?”

“I’ll bring you the dossier. Can I presume then that you're accepting the assignment?”

Salvador poured himself another drink. “I’ll take the job.”

The lobby couldn’t be called busy.

Two women sat in the waiting area. The first had fully settled into watching whatever daytime program was playing on the television, he had no idea what she was there for.

The second woman waiting in the lobby was more to his liking. Her clothes suggested a college student, with a sensibility for the summer heat- and enough skin showing to attract his notice. Although a woman like her could probably attract his notice in a parka.

Salvador filed the matter in the back of his mind. In case he ran into her on the way out- once his business was concluded. Business must always come first.

According to the dossier, Dr. Kohler had no family, and no friends. His only known correspondent over the past five years was a retired colleague of his, Dr. Lydia Kieth.

Salvador showed his identification to the acolyte nurse behind the counter, and she waved him past.

The nurse had barely stolen a glance as badge before returning to her magazine. Frumpy and middle-aged, she could have been the woman watching television’s sister.

They called this place a 'retirement community'. He would have called it a death watch facility, but Salvador was aware that he had melodramatic tendencies.

The number on the door was 14. Salvador knew it was the one he wanted, but he checked the memo book one last time to be certain. Then he tore out the page and burned it in an ashtray with his lighter.

The room was at the end of the corridor. It seemed that the maintenance man rarely made it to this area. The florescent lights overhead blinked on and then off again, without any evident pattern.

The door appeared vandalized, at first. On closer examination, Salvador found the marks were the faint traces of sigils. They had been carved directly into the wood of the door. The specific workings at play were unfamiliar, but they appeared to be wards of protection.

By his reckoning they were still efficacious. Rumor had it that the elderly sorceress had gone senile, but he was grateful that he wasn’t here to challenge the woman’s remaining arcane aptitude.

He rang the buzzer beside the entrance.

There were the sounds of a minor disturbance inside, as someone made their way unsteadily to the door.

A moment later, the door opened. A tiny little woman, as ancient and desiccated as some of the mummies he curated at the museum, stood on the other side. Her eyes were milky white, and totally unseeing. Regardless, she went through the motions of looking at him closely, as though to determine his identity.

Perhaps it was to make him feel more comfortable.

“Are you Dr. Lydia Kieth, associate scholar with the university?”

The old woman grasped a pendant around her neck, which emitted a faint glow, before replying. “Formerly with the university. But yes, I’m her. Who are you?”

“My name is Salvador Devalance. I do consulting work for military intelligence. I heard a lecture you gave years ago. About the research you performed on the preservation of azoth inside an artificially created vacuum of aether, fascinating subject. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about your work.”

Lydia considered for a moment, before standing aside and allowing him inside. “Not sure I remember enough to tell you anything, but you can try if you like. I know who you are, Mr. Devalance. I read your book. Had it read to me, that is.”

“Which one?”

“Oh, have you written another? That’s nice dear.”

“Did you like it?”

“Pop-history drivel.” Lydia motioned around the room vaguely, before guiding herself to a plain easy chair by memory. “Have a seat anywhere you like.”

The apartment was small, and besides the main area, there was only a small bedroom and bathroom. Although the central room did have a cramped little kitchenette with a stove top.

The whole place was furnished blandly, like it was decorated by a person who didn’t intend to stay there. It reminded Salvador of a motel room, only a few assorted knick knacks spoke of any personality.

“Thank-you, Lydia.” Salvador had few options, and settled for an uncomfortable loveseat, covered by a plastic wrap.

“You said you were consulting for military intelligence? A curious employment for a master of divination. So, are you a historian, a voyeur, or a fortune teller?”

Salvador gave her the courtesy of a laugh. “I’m a historian, by education.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have known it by your bibliography. And here I thought military intelligence preferred to hire voyeurs.”

“In fact, they make use of all three.”

“It doesn’t fill me with confidence to think that our generals are making decisions based on visions from crystal balls.”

“It’s a trifle more complicated than that, but I admit that I don’t put much stock in future seeing myself.”

“Well, don’t let me talk your ear off. You came here to ask me some questions, I believe.”

“Yes, you were a colleague of Herman Kohler. I wonder if you could tell me about the work you did together.”

Lydia turned her gaze upwards. As though her memories were located somewhere above her. Not that she could see them if they were. “He wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. Some found him quite cold. But he was really just passionate about his work. Why would a spy be interested in him?”

“He’s gone missing.”

“Shouldn’t that be a matter for the police?”

“That was the first question I asked. We have reason to believe – good reason – that a foreign government is responsible.”

“Gods.”

“If there’s anything you can tell me that might help?”

Lydia pulled herself back to her feet with some difficulty. Salvador moved to help her, but she waved him off.

“I have his papers around her somewhere. I’ll get them for you. I’m sure they'll be more use to you then my memory.” She guided herself over towards the bedroom. “Just wait out here for a moment.”

Papers? Best not to get excited, that could mean anything. But this might turn out to be a very profitable lead.

Salvador sat back down and waited, listening to the resulting of pages.

Although, he wasn’t really sure how she would identify anything she found found.