Triggerhappy
Stick with Trigger and You'll Make it Through
- Location
- SoCal
They journeyed back through the predawn. Alert and on edge. Morning had overtaken the investigators as they neared the base of the World Tree, Arrun still cloaked in shadow.
Kirito had no doubt that the assassin was their murderer. They had a face. It bothered him, but he wasn't sure why.
Their attacker had known the illusion spell <<Mimic>>, he could just as easily have been wearing the mask of a Spriggan to throw off pursuit.
One of Freelia's Watchmen had been able to sketch the assailant from their descriptions. Now they had to take it to someone who would know any Spriggans of note. Asking at the Kurotaka guild hall had been enough to get directions.
On the way out of the timber framed hall of the most notorious of Spriggan Guilds, Kirito noted the guards, both in full ancient grade armor and wielding matching spears. They looked tough and imposing. That was the point. The attacks were having an effect on even the most self assured factions.
Their destination turned out to be a high class area, Kormt Street, the yellow brick road lined with apartments decorated in vine wrapped iron fences and delicately budding creepers. Number 294 was a small townhouse adjacent to an arcade sheltering a cross street.
"Nice," Jensen observed. "But not exactly what I was expecting of a Lord." The Undined had followed Argo and Kirito while his partner had gone to lodge their report.
"It's just a place to crash while she's in town. Argo pulled down her hood. "If you want to see fancy, take a look at the Lord's mansion in Muisca. So. You want to knock or should I?"
Jensen shrugged.
Argo did the honors.
They waited.
And waited.
And waited . . .
"Maybe she's not home." Kirito suggested. Jensen pointed wordlessly to a sign hung beside the mailbox.
A Chibi-Morgiana held her spear in one hand, giving a victory sign, sticking out her tongue, and winked. At the bottom of the sign, a message had been painted.
Big Sis Is In!
Kirito turned the sign over to reveal the Chibi-Morgiana running off with another hand painted caption.
Big Sis Is Out!
Had someone pulled this woman from a Manga? Kirito heard the lock turning. The door opened fractionally.
"Lady Morgiana" the watch officer stepped smoothly in front of Argo, "I am Officer Jensen, I am with the Arrun Watch and . . ." The Undine's introduction fell off.
Kirito hadn't known what to expect of Morgiana in her own home. Not for the Lady of the Spriggans to answer the door half dressed.
Morgiana squinted, leaning sleepily against the wall as she rubbed at one darkly ringed, watery eye, her unbraided hair was tangled and haggard and hung messily off her shoulders.
"Yes?" She even sounded like she'd just crawled out of bed. "Can I help you with something?"
"You weren't at your Guild", Kirito managed to look at Morgiana without looking anywhere in particular. "It's very important that we talk to you."
"Kirito. So you're with the watch now?" The Spriggan woman perked up a little. "Hm, yeah, I've been feeling pretty lousy the last couple days. Who'd have guessed we could get the flu? So, an investigation huh?"
"Not an investigation," Jensen recovered, "the investigation."
Morgiana opened her eyes wide, sickness forgotten. "I'm guessing this should be a private conversation . . ." She gestured as the door opened fully. "Come on in."
It took a moment for Kirito's eyes to adjust. Only a little light penetrated the blinds to reveal a sparsely furnished room. A pile of blankets had fallen to the ground beside the sofa and the coffee table was covered in empty bottles and half eaten plates of toast and fruit. The air felt thick and stuffy.
Morgiana flopped down heavily, half reclining as she waved them to adjacent chairs. "Sorry for the mess, I've been trying to sleep this off. So, you're the ones who've been investigating the murders?"
Kirito nodded as he took one of the offered seats, meeting Morgiana's gray eyes. "And we might have a lead. You're not going to like it though."
Argo produced the illustrations, handing them to Morgiana whose expression, after a moment of study, went suddenly grim. A short hiss blew through her teeth as she tossed the drawings onto the coffee table, she pulled a hand slowly over her face.
"He's a Spriggan alright."
"So you know him?" Jensen asked, voice neutral.
"Not personally." Morgiana clarified with a mirthless grin, "But his reputation precedes him . . . Rip Jack."
"Rip . . . Jack . . . ?" Kirito muttered.
"Yeah, it's that sort of tacky handle."
"Jack the Ripper." Argo elaborated. "A serial killer who terrorized Victorian London. He was known to cut his victims throats."
Kirito felt his heart sink. Then they really were looking at a Laughing Coffin type killer.
"The method of murder is right." Jensen agreed. "But Jack the Ripper targeted prostitutes, not government officials, and he mutilated his victims."
"Sawing through their throats isn't mutilation?" Kirito asked. "If he's the kind of guy who got a rush playing a villain, I mean really getting into that role, maybe he just couldn't handle it. He might have just . . . snapped." And become what he pretended to be.
Jensen snorted. "Leave the profiling to people with experience, kid."
Kirito felt a little of the same annoyance felt by Argo. They'd seen this sort of killer before where Jensen had not. Being dismissed was . . . Kirito stopped himself. Personal feelings didn't matter. Stopping the murders did.
"Morgiana-san, can you find out if anyone has seen Jack recently." Kirito thought carefully. "He has to have interacted with somebody."
"That's going to be a problem." Morgiana's eyes fixed intensely on the tabletop. Looking through the sketches rather than at them. "Like I said, I didn't much care for the little troll when I booted him, and until just now, I cared even less. All I know is that he and his friends were hanging around the edge of Sylph territory."
"His Friends?" Jensen asked quickly. "Don't tell us there are more."
"Maybe two or three." Morgiana said. "They kept going out and ganking the Newbies, really killed a lot of the fun. That's when I finally broke down and banished them."
"Better and better." Argo whispered.
Morgiana's face twisted in confusion. "I don't get it. Jack was creepy, ghoulish, and weird. But he can't have just started killing like that!" She snapped her fingers. "I mean, I read about the SAO incident. Didn't it take months for murders to start cropping up?"
Jensen and Morgiana rested eyes on Argo and Kirito.
"Not quite." Kirito said uneasily, palms itching. He'd gotten his wish, he was suddenly the expert, and suddenly he didn't want it. "There were some early attempts. In the heat of the moment." Mostly unsuccessful . . . "But those were mainly people trying to secure an advantage." The Spriggan youth frowned as he looked for the right word. "They were . . . calculated. Not like Laughing Coffin. That happened later. But these are different circumstances and maybe . . ."
"Maybe what?" Morgiana leaned closer, conspiratorially.
"You know the news about players feeling . . . changed? Undine's don't like to get too dry and Salamanders hate it when it's cold . . . Last night, Argo snapped into some sort of frenzy when the assassin tried to attack." Kirito observed. "She was . . . like a startled cat . . . Uhm . . . No offense."
"It saved my life." Argo steepled her fingers thoughtfully. "So I won't complain sa."
Morgiana's eyes narrowed. "Hold on a second. You're not trying to say that Jack being a Spriggan has something to do with this?!"
"I don't know." Kirito felt very tired as he admitted his privately held fear. "But we can't ignore it, because people are going to think it when the news gets out."
They needed more eyes than just the Watch could provide. They needed a manhunt. But the price of putting a face to ALfheim's first murderer would be acknowledging that he was a Spriggan.
People remembered firsts . . .
Slamming her palms on the tabletop, Morgiana half rose. "My kids aren't murderers!"
Then, seeing the surprise at her outburst, she sank back onto the sofa. Morgiana spread her arms wide as she looked up at the ceiling and began to quietly count down from ten.
"If it is Jack, then you're facing an illusion master whose main method of delivering damage is his blade work." She said without turning her eyes from the ceiling. "You're going to need scouts tagging everyone to keep an eye out for illusion or stealth spells."
"We're already on it." Jensen said. "Watch Officers have instructions to in groups of three with at least one scout. SOP is to tag anyone suspicious with a Tracer."
"Manpower's gonna be tight." Morgiana observed. "<<Mimic>> used right can be a lot more potent than invisibility spells. You can see the user. But they're also more free to act than somebody under a cloak. I'll forward some of our illusionists to the Watch."
"It'd be appreciated." Jensen rose to his feet, straightening out his deep blue coat. "There's one other thing."
"Oh?" Morgiana smiled mirthlessly. "Just one?"
"You mentioned hearing that Jack was hanging around Sylph Territory before the transition." Jensen said. "We'd be interested in hearing from whoever gave you that information." Morgiana bit her lip. "Lady Morgiana?" Jensen asked. "Anything that helps us close this case . . ."
"I know." Morgiana snapped. Kirito wondered if she hadn't been shaken out of character. "It's just that, the person I heard it from is . . . Gene."
"General Eugene?" Kirito asked.
"Yeah." Morgiana grimaced. "Jack was one of Mort's assassins."
Before he knew it, Kirito was being ushered out behind Argo and Jensen. The door slammed shut behind them and the investigators were left on the front step, back in the light and the cool fresh morning breeze. A few pedestrians turned their heads to note the odd sight before returning to their own business.
Kirito took a moment to collect his thoughts, looking out over the rooftops of the nearby buildings, eyes gravitating to a pair of dark shapes sitting off of one of the eves like Gargoyles. The stylized hawk logo glinted in the sunlight. He suspected those two were just the only guards he could see.
"So . . . Where to next?" He asked.
They'd just hit a windfall of information that would be enough to lift even Argo's spirits. Only it had created just as many troubling new questions.
"Head back to Watch HQ and plot our next move." Argo decided. "And after that, we need to have a talk with Lord Mortimer."
"Vakarian can do it." Jensen suggested. "Mortimer trusted him enough to assign him to this investigation personally . . ." The Undine paused as he realized what he had just said.
Argo planted her face in her palm. "Beautiful."
____________________________________________________________________________
In her zeal, Louise had gravely miscalculated.
She had assumed that waiting tables, a Commoner task, would be trivially mastered by a Noblewoman. She had been half correct.
The pace of the work alone was grueling. Once the evening crowds arrived there was hardly a free moment. But Louise had been prepared to trade in her labor and was no stranger to hard work. She had not been so prepared, however, to trade in her dignity.
Louise pulled on the lace hem of her skirt as she navigated by candle light through the noise and steam, the smoke and cloistered heat, of a tavern filled to bursting with night's revelries.
Squeezing through the ever shifting ever cramped quarters, followed by a cometary tail of ribbons and bows. She was crushed against patrons, buffeted by orders, and here and there was certain she felt something brush up against her leg.
"You! Girl! Another!"
Her inebriated client raised an empty wine bottle over his head impatiently tapping on the label as if she were too stupid to remember.
"Oh! ~ O-of course – S-sir . . . I mean . . . M-master!" She wanted to wretch saying such a thing to the crude oaf leering at her with misted eyes.
'I was right the first time, Kirche should have taken this job.' Louise thought miserably as she hurried behind the counter. The Germanian would probably revel in the attention.
She scanned over the wine bottles until she found what she was looking for. Cutting the wax cap, she rushed back to her client.
"Excuse me." Jessica squeezed by, less with a walk and more with a bustle, occupying all at once two or three times more space than her slight frame required. It seemed to have the effect of repelling the guests and giving her room to breathe. On her arms, she balanced dizzying stacks of plates and bottles, always on the edge, but never quite toppling.
She'd been on the floor longer than Louise, and yet she hardly looked short of breath. All the while she wore a striking smile.
Louise was at a loss for how the girls did it. They parted the crowds and kept ever just out of reach of groping hands, chatting cheerfully with favorite customers. Always with an ease that Louise thought simply had to be magical in nature. There was an enchantment at work here somewhere.
Between frustration and the exhaustion of a long night , Louise hadn't noticed the buckle of one of her shoes come loose. Nore the toe catching on a step. Momentum carried her forward, she made one last skipping hop, and then began to topple.
An arm caught her around the stomach, thin, but supple and strong, it barely budged as Louise threw her weight against it for support. The nasal laughter of her rescuer filled the air.
"You okay?" KoKo asked cheerily. As if saving Louise was just a brief diversion from her fun.
"Y-yeah . . . Thanks." Louise mumbled.
"You look flushed." A little concern crept into the felinid woman's expression, "Are you sure you're okay? Jessica-san and I can take over if you need to have a lay down."
"I'm fine." Louise insisted, nonetheless feeling a pangue of envy.
The Faerie was good at this. Everything from her mannerisms to her manner of dress. Which Louise did not understand, but understood to be ruthlessly strategic.
The Shop Proprietor and his daughter had held a heated debate after securing the faerie's cooperation. In Mademoiselle's own words, "Having found my model, now I am in want of a canvas!"
That was when KoKo had come forward with her own ideas. Strange Faerie ideas. Scarron's eyes had glinted with intense interest. The matter was passed back and forth between Father and Daughter, a consensus was reached.
Long black skirt, pleated white apron, cuffed and collared blouse, cap that emphasized her ears, ribbons, frills, and bows, and a final touch, a slender black collar, complete with a brass bell that chimed sweetly as she moved.
If anything, it was more modest than what the Cait woman normally wore, but the commoners and petty mages couldn't seem to get enough. Her popularity had flourished.
"Miss KoKo!"
"Please hurry back my darling!"
"Mademoiselle, we seem to have spilled our wine!"
KoKo's ears perked up as she spun about, holding her hands in a pawing gesture. "Just one meow-ment!"
The Cait turned back to Louise. She tilted her head. "Are you sure you're doing alright?"
"I'm fine. Fine!" With beckoning customers, KoKo didn't have time to press the matter.
She watched the Faerie make her way through the crowds, sidestepping and spinning about to avoid the more physical guests while teasing playfully with those who touched only with their eyes. Louise's mind rebelled as she watched KoKo flirting like Kirche.
"Girl!"
Louise grit her teeth. "Coming Monsieur." Louise called, hurrying back with her best fake smile. Until de'Martou made his appearance, she had to excel.
So when the customer asked her to pour him another drink, she did, and when the customer asked her to sit in his lap, she did. And when the customer reached under her skirt, she drove her elbow hard into his sternum in exactly the way mother had taught her.
What mother had neglected to explain was that, a grown man, stomach full of food and wine, did not react well to being hit viciously, physiologically speaking. Naturally, it being Louise's customer it had been her responsibility to make good of the mess.
By the time Louise had finished with the resulting revolting business the other girls had switched from trying to earn tips to coaxing customers to depart, gently helping the cooperative to the door, helping the less cooperative a little less gently with assistance from Mademoiselle.
When the last customer had departed, the girls had put up their hair, done up their skirts, and joined Louise in scrubbing down the tables and floor. Work wasn't finished until the shop was ready for the next day.
Finally, as Louise sank into a waiting chair, the night's tally was taken and displayed on a blackboard showing each girl's take.
KoKo had ended up neck and neck with Jessica. That was unsurprising. Her novelty alone was drawing admirers.
What was surprising was the way in which the girls responded. Informed by the Academy, Louise had expected them to resent a newcomer who had shown them all up. But instead, there were only words of congratulations and thanks.
"That had to be half again as many customers as we've had any night this month." Mona nodded to a smaller, redheaded girl.
"At least! I didn't have a spare second all night. And the new ones were really loose with their spending. Trying to impress her. Miss KoKo really knows how to work the crowd!"
"Here here!" The girls cheered while making a meal of the night's leftovers.
Louise had not felt like celebrating. Scarron performed her tally last. Tonight's incident had been bad, the flat, thin lipped look given to her by Mademoiselle was even worse.
"That brings the total to twelve plates and eight bottles." Scarron said, taking her aside. "We can deduct it from your take for the time being, I suppose." The Monsieur who styled himself a Mademoiselle shook his head. "We'll just consider this part of the learning process."
And so, Louise had found herself handing over the scant few coins she had fought hard to collect. A thin slip of paper was dropped into the jar beneath her name announcing the remainder of her debt. Seeing the number put up on the board in red chalk nearly made her weep.
She did weep when she and KoKo were finally alone. Louise sat knees tucked under chin. Hands raw and feet sore. With nary a groan, she tipped onto her side, arms wrapped around her legs as she laid in her cot.
Their room, little more than a repurposed space in the attic, was dusty and stuffy with only a small, glassless window to let in the night air. A pair of cots and a small chest comprised its entire furnishing.
Scarron had apologized endlessly when he had shown them where they were expected to sleep, fearing that his new Faerie hire would decide to quit on the spot.
It was simply the way of this place that the rooms were assigned in order of seniority, without exception. A measure of fairness devised to ward against resentment among the girls.
But KoKo had not complained. The Cait had not even wrinkled her nose before following Louise into exile.
"I'm terrible." Louise mumbled into her pillow. "I didn't just not earn tips, I earned negative tips. I went into debt by working!"
"Now, now." KoKo soothed, stroking her hair. "You've never done work like this before."
"Commoners do it!" Louise raised her voice and then fell silent. The walls were not so thick that her voice would not carry. "I mean . . . " Louise whispered. "I expected it to be hard work. But not this . . ."
"Complicated?" KoKo provided? Louise nodded. That was a good word for it. "And why wouldn't it be complicated? The girls here entertain all sorts of customers at all times of day. And they always wear a smile. People skills like that are prized where I come from and I bet it's the same here too."
"R-right." Louise should have known that, she admitted. If she'd ever thought much about any skill that was not innately magical. The Founder knew that her time at the academy had revealed her to not be the most personable . . . person. But then . . . "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" KoKo tilted her head.
"All of it." She felt much too tired to explain right now. "You're such a natural or . . . experienced. Did you do this kind of work before?" KoKo's expression went blank, and for a moment the Cait woman was completely still. "I'm sorry," Louise said quickly, "I shouldn't have asked."
KoKo's expression changed smoothly, becoming again warm and congenial. "Did I do work like this? No, not exactly. But I had a friend who took jobs in theme cafes back in school. So I guess I have an idea about how these sorts of places work."
That explained where all of the ideas she had volunteered to Scarron were coming from. But even so . . .
"I still don't like it. Acting indecently I mean." Louise hugged herself a little tighter. Not even a fiance had the right to presume some of the things the tavern's clientele tried to get up to. Louise had not missed the way some of the girls let some of them, their favorites, get away with it, either.
"Well, I wouldn't say . . ."
"Commoner girls may whore themselves like that but I . . ." Louise fell silent as she felt KoKo's stroking stop. When she looked up, Louise flinched at the look in the cait's eyes.
Not anger, far worse than that, disappointment.
"Louise. You shouldn't say such things!" The Faerie woman's warning as heavy and severe as an axe blade.
Louise was for a moment at a loss, her answer died in her throat. It paralyzed her just as it did when she imagined mother's disappointment.
"You shouldn't think so unkindly of people without understanding their lives." KoKo said. "Scarron-san and his daughter have been very patient Louise, and they really are trying to help you, in their own way."
"I-I know." Was it too late to simply apologize? "But then, what is it? I'm expected to . . . to flirt with the customers? Don't you know how indecent that looks?!"
"Flirt, yes." KoKo said. "Put up with harassment, never." She patted Louise on the head. "Is that what you think those girls are doing? What I've been doing?"
Briefly, Louise was frozen in horror. Was this why KoKo's temper had flared? "I'm so sorry KoKo I . . ."
"Nyeh heh heh!" The Cait's laughter was soft and nasally, turning to gentle lisp as it faded leaving Louise at a loss. "It's alright, I just forget how sheltered you are sometimes."
Louise gave the Cait a sour look. "If 'sheltered' is a way to say I've been given a proper upbringing then yes!" She said with only the barest hint of pride as she crossed her arms before her chest. "A young Lady shouldn't act so . . . so forward with someone who is not a suitor."
"So those are the rules huh?" KoKo asked.
"Yes. Those are the rules." Louise agreed.
"But rules are different when you're playing a game right?"
"What?"
"Or a play. Well, I guess everyone who acts in plays and operas right now are boys aren't they?" KoKo mused to herself.
Louise shook her head. "KoKo, you're not making any sense."
KoKo sat a little straighter as she assumed an instructive pose. "What I'm saying is the reason the other girls have a much easier time is that they make a game of it, and so do the customers. In fact, I think Jessica-chan would punch someone if they thought she was a prostitute."
Louise frowned. "But what about people like . . . well . . . " The memory lingered. Much like the smell of bile.
"Some people," KoKo breathed, "Don't follow the rules. And that's what Scarron-san is here for. If you let Scarron-san do his work, nothing gets hurt but someone's pride."
"It being a game does explain why you seem to enjoy it so much." Louise looked at her slyly. "Maybe a little too much!"
The Cait tilted her head again, giving a closed eyed, embarrassed smile. "Nnnnnnn~ Maybe? Maybe I just really like the attention. You know, I'm not this super-cute in that other world so it's sort of flattering." She struck another little, cat-like pose to emphasize her point.
Louise giggled.
"There you go. See, things aren't so bad." KoKo pulled her into a reassuring hug. Louise could feel the faint purring from deep within her chest. "Feeling a little better?"
"Yeah." Just the act of laughing had lifted her spirits.
"So, you think you'll be ready for another round tomorrow? Don't worry, I'll give you pointers. Just bring your determination, m'kay? And if any of those guys does anything that Scarron-san can't handle, I'll give'm a scratching."
"I'll give it a try." Louise decided, leaning against KoKo's offered shoulder. It was a lot like being with Cattleya. Except for that part. Her eye cracked open again as she noticed the warm curling sensation wrapping around her waist. Louise reached down, and very gently brushed her hand along the length of KoKo's tail.
KoKo went rigidly straight, face flushing darkly.
"N-nyaa?!"
__________________________________________________________________________
The Manor of the de'Martou squatted in the Tristain Countryside, low, and sullen, its walls weathered and gray. It looked less a house and more a piece of the landscape. Helped along by shrubs and saplings grown by neglect.
It had been the home of a Tristanian Knight, once. The times had changed and so too had the character of the nation.
The Knight had died and his sons had failed to earn a peerage. The land had been gradually partitioned off by death and inheritance until only the ruin of a house and its grounds remained.
It could be supposed that growing to adulthood surrounded by the bones of a noble lineage would have profoundly affected a young Terrance de Martou.
Not that any of the clandestine observers would have been inclined to think such things. Nor would they have cared if they did. The times had changed and so too the character of the nation.
They had no titles. Their names and faces were not known at Court. There was no glory for them nor any honor. They served only for a modest wage and a quiet dignity. They were loyal to Tristain and to its Crown.
Rough women ready and willing to do what needed to be done.
Ready. Willing. But anxious.
Lieutenant Agnes propped herself up on elbows as she observed the manor from the cover of a hunting blind hidden within the treeline. Holding a spyglass up to her eye, she adjusted the focus until a lone traveler resolved themselves, long mane of red hair bouncing as she sauntered.
The musket squadron had put de'Martou's property under surveillance long before Agnes had learned of a young Noble meddling where she didn't belong. But what their surveillance had gleaned was precious little. That the manor was occupied. And that men and material were coming and going.
The chance to change that may have inspired her to act against her better judgment.
What she had gathered about Kirche had left the impression of a noble-born thrill seeker. Not the qualities one looked for in a task that required a cool head and a steady temperament.
"Are you sure she knows what she is doing?" Agnes asked the girl laying next to her.
"Good at improvising." The girl, Tabitha, whispered in a soft monotone that Agnes associated with disinterest. "No one better."
Agnes gestured to the markswomen hidden in the trees to be ready with their long rifles. If worst came to worst they could render some assistance.
A hand closed around her wrist. Grip ginger but unyielding, and pulled her arm gently back to her side. The lieutenant met Tabitha's eyes.
"She'll be fine." The girl said. This time matter of fact.
Girl. Child. This was truly a Gallian Chevalier?
Agnes had not believed it at first. Even when told by a mage with the trust and the ear of her Royal Highness. She assumed it was some lark of the Mad King to create a child a knight.
If so, nobody had told Tabitha.
Dressed in dark gambeson, the same shade of deep blue favored by sharpshooter's for their night cloaks. The gnarled oak staff, a respectable mage's focus, had been joined by a steel battle-rod. There was a calmness about her, a matter of factness, she had not not complained of difficulty or discomfort in the way that all but the most hardened nobles tended to do.
And then there was her dragon . . .
A daughter of the Germanian house Anhalt-Zerbst. A Gallian Chevalier. And denizens of ALfheim . . .
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing." Agnes replied. "Her Highness' friends keep interesting company."
Tabitha merely shrugged before turning her attention back to the manor.
If they were even half as able as they were interesting then perhaps there was nothing to fear.
__________________________________________________________________________
Being covert was all well and good. But the thing about being covert, Kirche thought, was all of the hiding.
Being covert meant that you didn't dare get close. You didn't dare be seen or heard. You couldn't touch or examine or join in a conversation.
What was more, why bother being invisible when you could pretend to be something else?
Sometimes overt was best. And Kirche was nothing but overt.
If it were possible, the de'Martou manor looked even more miserable than it had at a distance. Rotting window frames, gardens overgrown, birds nesting in the roof. She would have guessed it abandoned. What it ought to have been was condemned.
The once grand oak door was no better than the rest of the place only hanging on by stubbornness.
A badly tarnished brass knocker sat imposingly, shaped into the visage of a roaring manticore. Kirche grabbed hold, lifting it, brass struck wood three times, three heavy, deep, -knocks-.
Kirche stood back expectantly. First, she was patient, then she began tapping her foot. She knocked again, and again she was left to wait, an almost insufferable insult.
'They'd come running if they knew what was waiting for them.' She thought.
She was about to lift the knocker again when she heard the turning of locks. Lots of locks. It went on for a disconcerting amount of time followed by the door opening with all the charm of a crypt.
"Wha'd ya want?!" A voice growled suspiciously.
"Good day kind Zir." Kirche bobbed forward at the waist, just enough to flash a hint of bolstered cleavage. The man blinked rapidly before shaking his head.
"Come again?"
"Vhy, I zaid good day. Or vould a how do yu do vi more in order? I muzt zay all of zese Tristanian customs are most confuzing!" Grabbing her arms, Kirche wagged from side to side. "Oh, von't you pleaze help? I've been walking all day and zeen -ardly a vriendly vace!"
The door opened a little wider.
He was altogether average, indistinct in a way that was itself exceptional. Average height, but with the right choice of clothes would have given the impression he was taller or shorter at a distance. Stalky or slim. Brown hair that in the right light or with a little grease could be turned black or with the application of the proper powders could be mistaken for a dirty blonde. Brown eyes, or were they black?
Handsome, Kirche supposed, or maybe not. It was hard to say.
"Come again, Miss?"
"Eik! How very rude of me! To not even introduce mein zelf!" Stepping back, Kirche curtsied her long traveling skirt. "I am Kirche Augusta Fredericka von Anhalt-Zerbst and I -ave been attending at great honor at the Tristain Academy of Majiks."
"Zerbst?" A flash of recognition appeared and passed in the man's eyes.
"Yez!" Proud expression turned to distress as she pouted. "Vut, vith ze Faeries now inhabiting ze countryzide, mein family was mozt inziztant zat I make a hazty return, before they could even zpare a chaperone, vut -" She covered her face with with her forearm, an action that, incidentally, did wonders for her bosom. "I vear I have become lozt!"
"Lozt?" The man parroted.
"Yez, Lozt." Wasn't this how everyone thought Germanian's spoke? What good was a stereotype if she couldn't exploit it?
"You mean lost!"
"Yez. Lozt!" Kirche tried not to roll her eyes.
"Chadrick, who's there?"
"It's just some girl who's gotten herself lozt . . . I mean lost. I'll have her away in just a minute."
"Ach, Nein! Certainly not zis late in ze day?!" Kirche pointed to where the sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon.
"Shorely you'd not make a young voman brave ze elements with all of ze vicious Faerie creatures! I vould be mooozzzt grateful and mooozzzt graciouze if you were to reconzider."
The man's mouth opened . . . and then fell further open as she clasped her hands together and leaned just a bit further forward. She imagined the scales working behind his eyes.
"I suppose . . . That wouldn't be very proper of me, would it?" Chadrick said as he licked his lips. There was an accompanying change in his voice. A slowing of his words. More deliberate. More assured.
Almost . . . suave.
"Chadrick, how much longer will you be at that blasted door?! We need you in here." Another voice, higher pitched, asked impatiently.
"Just a moment longer."
"Not a moment longer!" A second man, shorter than Chadrick came into view. Shorter, and older, with a compact powerful build. A focus hung in a ready holster on his belt. "I thought you said you were telling her off!"
"Enough, Digby!" The younger man snapped with sudden authority. His impression was that of a chameleon, and his personality was alike, changing to suit him. "The young Miss has simply been on the road most of the day and lost her bearings."
"And her predicament is hardly our business." Digby countered before turning to appraise Kirche. "I'd say she can take care of herself."
"Oh, pleaze kind Zir!" Kirche repeated. "I promiz I'll ve no trouble. Only vor ze one night and I shall go in ze morning!"
Chadrick's lips thinned as he nodded severely. He gestured to Kirche. "As she's said, she'll keep out of the way. Where would our propriety be if we turned her out?"
"A few leagues higher than this place is where." She thought she heard Digby say. "And besides Chadrick my boy, do you forget that we are guests in your friend's house. It is not our propriety to show."
Chadrick's only reply was to wave a dismissive hand. "Hardly at all. I'd say it would reflect ill on de'Martou if his friend's failure to show hospitality in his place. The company will do us good I think."
"Oh yez!" Kirche smiled as was lead inside. "Mozt goot!"
____________________________________________________________________________
Not long ago at all, Botan would have been petrified by the dark. Head full of stories woven by Hinagiku to keep her and her siblings in line, the darkness had been a frightening thing made up of all manners of monsters that just wanted to gobble up little Pixies.
But then she had come to understand that there was nothing special about the darkness to be frightened of, no danger that didn't also exist in the light. It was just . . . dark.
And that was no trouble for her.
Sniffing deeply, she teased apart the air for the faint trace of overt sweetness. Navigating between rafters, squeezing through the cracks too small for a mouse, she followed first by scent and then by sound.
Dim candle light was shining up through cracks in the ceiling. A conveniently placed rafter made the perfect spot to observe. Botan peered down into the beings' world.
Of course Botan had seen Kirche undress before and there was nothing at all strange about her save her size and lack of wings. It was the room's other occupant that was odd to look at.
A male.
"You've veen mozt kind to me, Monzieur Chadrick." Kirche said as she left her blouse and skirt hanging from a chair in one corner as she adjusted her small clothes.
Opposite Kirche, seated atop an old mattress, the human male named Chadrick, clutched the neck of a bottle of wine in one hand, a plate of bread and fruit sitting on a tray beside him. He was undressed down to trousers, displaying dark hairy chest.
"It was hardly anything at all Miss Zerbst. And as I've said, your company has been enjoyable. I didn't expect another devotee of Shaks Pierre to make herself known in this backwater."
"Doubt that the starz are fire, Doubt that the doth move his aidez . . ." Kirche said, the funny voice she was putting on fading a little.
"Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love." Chadrick finished with a laugh. "Really, a shame not to see his plays as they were meant. He wrote them for the Theater in Londinium, they say, there really is no place else to see them."
"Zuch a shame, truly." Kirche pouted as she crawled up onto the bed, wrapping arms around the man from behind and purring. "Alzough, I do zink part of ze vun is in acting zem out meinzelf."
"Is that so?"
"Juzt zo!"
What came next . . .
'Nnnnn! Gross!'
Morbid curiosity got the better of her and Botan peaked out with one eye to see Kirche in the midst of pressing her lips, the entirety of her body really, against Chadrick.
Chadrick fumbled with the straps of Kirche's brazier but never quite seemed to get his fingers to move the right way. Slowly, his efforts subsided, hands falling to rest limply at his sides.
He began to snore.
Kirche drew back, sitting up atop the man with a look of mild disappointment as she carefully wiped her lips. "Well, that's a shame."
Climbing off the bed, she carefully arranged the male's hands on top of his chest and stepped gingerly back to where she had left her clothes.
The Germanian dressed quickly but neglected her boots in favor of a pair of soft soled slippers. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting." Kirche frowned. "You are there, aren't you? I'd feel terribly silly if I'm talking to myself."
Botan sighed as she rolled off of the rafter. She came to hover in front of Kirche, arms crossed.
"What's the matter?" Kirche asked.
"You sure seemed to be enjoying yourself . . . I thought you were really going to mate with him."
"Really?" The being looked bemused. "And what gave you that idea? Talking with Louise I suppose . . ."
She wasn't going to dignify that with an answer. "The guards just changed." Botan nodded back to the drugged male. "How long until he wakes up?"
Kirche gave Chadrick a glance "Probably not until morning. It gets more powerful the more you drink. By then, he'll have made up his own happy story about tonight."
"You must have a lot of experience with that stuff." Botan said under her breath.
"It does keep the boorish ones entertained. So, lead the way."
The Pixie settled on Kirche's shoulder. The manor's rooms were pitch black, but Botan knew the way. She had been exploring the house for over a week. Slipping in at dusk and venturing back just before dawn.
It hadn't been hard. Being homes were big. It was insane. A nest so big that countless small lives were lost in its shadows. A fact that Botan had used to her advantage.
The birds living in the eves had carried her to and from the forest unnoticed. And a lovely family of field mice had saved her work by showing her the best way into the pantries.
Which was where she had found it. Made of thick, well maintained wood, banded in iron, and fitting its door frame so snugly not even a pixie could squeeze her way inside. If there was any place in the house that was storing secrets, that would be it.
So Tabitha had concocted this plan. And Kirche had volunteered herself. And Agnes had agreed. And Botan had scouted the way.
It had to be Kirche, it was decided. Not only was she a capable mage. She was a Zerbst, whatever that was, meaning even if she was caught snooping around the men wouldn't dare harm her.
They traveled the length of the west wing and took the cramped servant's stairs down to the kitchens. They could have snuck down through the grand hall, but this way kept them clear of the occupied sections of the house.
Kirche examined the door and its mechanisms while Botan kept watch. The beings had never used this door so late at night. But they came to take food and wine from the cellar at all hours.
"Well?" The Pixie asked impatiently.
"Well." Kirche answered, not a whisper, but a murmur that was swallowed up within inches of her lips. "I'm no Earth Mage, but . . ."
Carefully tapping her wand and tracing a circle which ended in a flourish, Kirche stepped back as a faint, heavy -click- issued from the door. Both infiltrators looked about to make sure that they hadn't been heard.
The door opened and shut silently on smooth, oiled hinges.
Darkness, silence, stagnant air, then a soft -snap- as a light appeared at the end of Kirche's wand. It was dim, but still enough to dazzle their dark adjusted eyes.
They were at the top of a narrow stairway that descended steeply downward between walls of smoothly sculpted stone. "Old construction." Kirche muttered to herself. "Maybe a castle that was here before?"
"You think?" Botan whispered.
"We have places like this back home." Kirche explained. "Boltholes in case an inter house feud gets bloody."
They descended what felt like a worrying distance before narrow stairway opened abruptly, causing a feeling like vertigo as the walls fell away and the ceiling reared up into shadow that swallowed their meager light.
They had been admitted to a chamber, vast and vaulted, and jam packed with crates and casks, barrels that smelled faintly of hay and wax and other more alchemical odors that Botan had scented in the laboratories of the Count of Tarbes.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
"What the hell is this!"
The tall double doors opening with a thunder that silenced everyone in the room. The Lady of the Sylphs entered, accompanied by four of her personal retainers and the Black Swordsman Kirito. The Captain of Mortimer's Guards was already reaching for her sword before she recognized just who it was cutting a path through her Lord's sanctum.
Prepared as ever, when Arrun had become the nerve center of a Faerie government, Mortimer had already had a headquarters picked out in the form of the Salamander Guild Hall. The place practically oozed Mortimer.
Stark stone walls projected all the charm and warmth of a fortress, halls decorated in campaign banners, displays of weapons and armor, and dozens of oil paintings depicting battles ancient and contemporary. Sakuya recognized more of the paintings than she would ever admit.
The Lion of the North and The Battle of Trafalgar, Sakuya noted the two facing the tall windows. Perhaps most telling was the painting hung directly behind Mortimer, Sakuya didn't consider herself a fan of Jacques Louis David but seeing that particular painting depicting that particular man astride a horse didn't do much to improve her impression of the person beneath it.
Sitting behind a massive oak desk, the First Lord of Gaddan looked up from a pile of reports and frowned minutely. "Ah, Sakuya-chan, how lovely for you to visit. No, let yourself in, I'll call for tea."
"You've got a lot of nerve for someone keeping secrets." Sakuya strode across the room. Mortimer must have have been compensating for something with such an ostentatious waste of space, but she wasn't going to let it intimidate her.
Frown deepening, the Salamander set down his pen. "Pardon?"
Sakuya's anger boiled.
"Rip Jack."
Mortimer's bloody eyes narrowed. The Salamander Lord laced his fingers. "That is not something I am going to discuss while you have half of your staff in tow."
Sakuya grimaced. She instructed her entourage to wait outside. Ephi going only reluctantly with a look of anxiety to leave his Lord alone. Mortimer did the same with his own confused subordinates, Lidea also half heartedly resisting, until the only ones left in the room were Sakuya, Mortimer, and by mutual consent to bare witness, Kirito.
Mortimer waited for the door to be shut and the sound of footsteps to fade. "Do you know how long it's been since I'd given that name a moment's thought?"
"Tell me."
"Two months, or rather, eight weeks. At the time I was putting a bounty on your head after I learned about the alliance that you and Alicia were planning. Of course, then I was approached by your former subordinate and a new avenue opened. Plans changed."
"Which one told you?" Sakuya gathered her arms into the robes of her Yukata, refusing to back down from Mortimer's gaze.
The Salamander remained as emotionless as ever. "Who told me about Rip Jack? Vakarian-san of course. He recognized the man that Miss Argo described and thought to report it directly to me. Though Morgiana did warn me about what she'd told the investigation, I suppose her relationship with my Brother counts for something."
"And you expect me to believe that?" Sakuya half asked and half wondered out loud. "That seems like a bit much from a man who put his own pet cop on the investigation."
Mortimer snorted derisively, eyes glancing to Kirito. "You mean the way that you assigned your own loyal crow? Or did you expect me to choose a person I did not trust for such a sensitive matter?"
"That isn't really a fair comparison, is it?" Sakuya and Mortimer both turned their attention to the Spriggan youth.
"I mean," Kirito continued voicing his thoughts out loud, "It isn't suspicious that you knew the Assassin. And it isn't suspicious that Vakarian-san was chosen for the investigation. I'm sorry, it isn't my policy to doubt people," Kirito shook his head, "But Vakarian-san withheld important information from the rest of us. That alone makes him very suspicious. And by extension, it makes you a suspect as well Lord Mortimer."
She was surprised again that the boy, at least she thought he was as young as he looked, could manage so well. She'd seen the same calm in Thinker and Yulier, and in the swordswoman Asuna. Just what had SAO done to them really?
Sakuya nodded once to Mortimer. "You should speak honestly with us now, or this is going to keep looking worse. Why did Vakarian try to keep this from the investigation?"
"Tell me Sakuya. How many Sylphs are there?" The Salamander leaned back in his chair, blinking with reptilian slowness. "Please, I know you have an exact number."
An obtuse question, and yet Mortimer demanded a direct answer. "Eight thousand two hundred and thirteen." That had been the tally of the latest and most accurate census. Minus one.
Mortimer nodded. "And there are eight thousand one hundred and seventy Salamanders. Together, we represent over a quarter of all of the Faeries in Tristain. Then tell me, how would it look if it came out that the Salamander had employed the man who has been terrorizing our streets and killing our people? Especially when those people are all high ranking Sylphs and Cait Syth."
"You're trying to protect your reputation?" Three dead and an investigator nearly killed in her sleep and still Mortimer showed not one whit of emotion. Sakuya began to tremble. 'Say something you bastard!'
"My reputation? No." Mortimer said. "The reputation of the Salamanders is much more important." Kirito stiffened faintly at Sakuya's side. "I imagine, the reason that you came here to speak to me rather than hanging me in public is the same reason that Vakarian did not immediately divulge the suspect's identity."
"Morgiana is in the same situation being the Lady of the Spriggans." Mortimer nodded to Kirito. "How do you think people will feel knowing that our first murderer comes from your . . . faction? Or maybe faction is too transient a word, maybe we should call it your race."
Kirito voiced no reply, only stared through Mortimer.
The Salamander rose slowly from his desk, leaving his cane leaned against the side of the table. "This is a new world Sakuya. It doesn't matter who or what we were before. And I will not have the eight thousand one hundred and seventy Salamanders that I am responsible for alienated from their own kin because of a coincidence."
"And you've done a fine job of it, haven't you?" Sakuya asked. "Look at where we are now." She waved to the room with its vaulted ceiling and polished marble floor. To the windows that looked out on the plaza of the huge guild hall. And beyond to the City of Arrun, the breathing city that was being threatened in its infancy by the shadow of a murderer.
A faint widening of the eyes. That was all that Sakuya's outburst had netted her from Mortimer. "How can you expect any of us to trust you?"
Mortimer tilted his head, at last showing a hint of irritation. "Truthfully, it doesn't matter if you trust me or not. I do not need your trust Sakuya. The only thing I need is your belief that our interests align."
She couldn't afford that. Her mistakes could cost lives.
"I want your full cooperation and I want Vakarian taken off the investigation." Sakuya said suddenly. If they couldn't trust Mortimer, then they couldn't trust Mortimer's pet, not so long as he refused to cooperate.
Mortimer's taciturn continence reasserted itself. "You do know that he is a member of the city watch, we agreed that we cannot interfere in an ongoing investigation."
"Take him off." Sakuya repeated. "Or explain to him why he should dismiss himself. If you care so much, let Morgiana send one of her own people to replace him. The Spriggans have the greatest number of Illusion Masters and know Rip Jack better than anyone. We may not trust each other, but at least we can both trust Morgiana."
"Trust isn't the matter. Rather, it's qualification." Mortimer said slowly. "Believe it or not, I've actually known Vakarian for quite a long time in that other world and can vouch for his law enforcement background. That is why I wanted him on the case first and foremost."
"Given his judgment, I'd call that a condemnation rather than an endorsement." Sakuya said. "This is going to go public Mortimer. We need to start taking active measures immediately to hunt Rip Jak down before he kills again. Your faction has a great deal of good will thanks to your part in planning the Newcastle Evacuation. You can take the hit to your name and still weather this."
Sakuya shook her head. "But only if you start working with us. This is happening whether you want it to or not." Mortimer didn't say a word, she didn't expect him to. "I've already sent word to the other Lords. You have until tonight, then we'll make the announcement. Take whatever measures you think are suitable."
Turning her head. "Kirito." The Spriggan looked to her. "Unless you have any questions, I do not think we should waste any more of the First Lord of Gaddan's time."
Kirito nodded. "That's everything for now, I think." He looked past Sakuya. "But I might need to come back later depending on what the investigation turns up."
"My door is always open, Kirito-kun." Mortimer said said with only a hint of distaste.
Sakuya did her best to glide rather than storm from his office. Yes, glide, be graceful, be graceful like the wind. She had predicted that she'd feel like this, but not so strongly.
But she'd faced turmoil in the past and she dealt with this the same way, pushing it down as deeply as she could and hoping that when it finally came back up it would be in one of the rare moments when nobody else was around. Then she would shout and rage and throw whatever happened to be in reach. But for now, she was the serene Lady of the Sylphs.
The Captain of the Guard escorted them out. Sakuya didn't speak to the Spriggan at her side until they were back in the Guild Plaza. Receiving glances from passing Fae beneath the brick deco. "Well . . . What did you think of that Kirito?"
"Are you asking my opinion?"
"Your observations, yes." Sakuya answered. "A second set of eyes and a second opinion can do wonders." If only she'd waited for Alicia.
The Spriggan youth shrugged his shoulders faintly. Kirito possessed something of tell, a learned quality that manifested itself as a look of mild reluctance whenever he was confronted by any sort of hard question.
"The one thing I can say." Kirito said quietly. "I don't think Mortimer was lying to us."
"Oh?" Sakuya asked. "And why is that?"
"Hmmm." Kirito crossed his arms. "Like Mortimer said, no matter what his ambitions, our interests right now align. Nobody wants a murderer running free. I think his reasons for hiding his relationship with Jack are sincere."
"Sincere maybe." Sakuya was willing to admit. "But deeply misguided."
"Milady." Ephi approached at the head of her guards. He wore and expression of concern which faded as he saw Sakuya's sour expression. "It did not go well, I fear."
"It did not." She agreed. "Kirito, I would be grateful if you keep the Lord's and I abreast. I will not detain you from the investigation for a moment longer." The Spriggan said his goodbyes and excused himself to return to his mission.
"Was there anything I should be kept abreast of, Milady?" Ephi asked as they parted ways with the young Spriggan.
"Nothing that you couldn't predict." Sakuya decided. "We confronted Mortimer, Mortimer denied his involvement. But . . . I believe Kirito is correct that this is mishandled damage control."
"And that is your opinion Milady?"
"It is what I hope to be true." Sakuya said. Because the alternative was not worth thinking about.
"Then it must be so." Ephi decided. "Except . . . "
"Go on."
"I have a confession to make Milady. I fear you may not like it. But it is best you know the truth."
"Oh?" Sakuya answered in a way that left it unsaid, 'this ought to be good'.
Ephi closed his eyes and steeled himself. "Before I created the avatar you see before you. I used to play for the Salamander faction. This was originally my alternate account."
Sakuya blinked as she took this in. As confessions went, it was underwhelming. Many players had possessed alternates. It was almost stranger not to have one. Perhaps the only surprise was that which it invoked in her retainers.
"Ephi-san?" Nana, one of Novair's subordinate secretaries, questioned. "But . . ." Murmurs from her other guards threatened to boil over before Sakuya shot out a hand. Then, everyone fell silent.
That was why she had to remain calm. Always calm. Always composed. It was the dignity and grace of Lady Sakuya which gave her power over them. Ephi's eyes widened.
"So." Sakuya said. "Why tell me this now?"
The Sylph, who had once been a Salamander, breathed in. "Your trust was just betrayed by Lord Mortimer, Milady. I did not want the same to happen between us. With Novair and Liliana gone I want you to know you can trust the man watching your life."
"That is . . . really very honorable of you Ephi." Sakuya bowed her head graciously. "I thank you for your honesty." She glanced at the other Sylphs. As if her decision had broken the spell, they all looked to one another sheepishly.
"Yeah, Ephi's fine." One of guards scratched the back of his neck. "So what if he played Salamander. So long as he's a true Sylph now it doesn't matter."
"Thank you." Her guard commander bowed." But please, all of you, remember that moment of doubt. Remember that we Fae are more alike than different. Mortimer might be a controlling man. He may not tolerate Sakuya-sama's opposition. But we mustn't follow his path. We mustn't make all Salamanders our enemies."
The Sylph Lord nodded. As speeches went, it was as good as some, and better than most. She suspected Ephi had been composing it for just such an occasion. Well, she wouldn't begrudge the man his chance to look good to his subordinates.
Doubt niggled as Sakuya's wings materialized and she took to the sky. Mortimer was a controlling man. And he did not tolerate dissent. The Salamanders were not their enemies. But did that make their Lord an ally?
___________________________________________________________________________
Home again.
The front door opened and closed, muting the late afternoon street. Kirito rested his back against the hardwood, closed his eyes, and counted down from ten.
His brow furrowed as a thought crossed his mind and he blindly sought out and turned the deadbolt with a heavy, reassuring, -toonk-, of interlocking brass.
He'd crossed swords with Jack. Looked the killer in the eye and seen no fear. If he was anything like the murderers guild, Jack would remember their meeting. He'd seek to make it personal. He'd . . .
He had to tell Asuna, Kirito realized, tonight he knew, but . . . Just few more hours of peace. Without worry. He could give her that. Had to give her that. Asuna deserved that and so much more.
He could hear her moving about the kitchen. The fading scent of something that had been cooked earlier in the day. Something with nuts and honey, his nose told him.
He creeped across the living room, silent as a ghost. The floor had all the hallmarks of being newly made. There were no creaking joists, no squeaky boards. Only the muted padding of bare feet on hardwood and then tile.
There she was, doing something over the sink. He wanted to smile. He remembered their first week together in this house, the four of them, as a family. They'd agreed to devote the morning to cleaning up the house. Mopping the floor, scrubbing the bath, getting the laundry taken to the wash and put away. Asuna had woken them all up early. He couldn't remember ever seeing someone so excited to clean.
Only it turned out that, despite being a masterful chef, the Maeve's other domestic skills left a lot to be desired. Asuna could keep her own spaces organized and tidy, but she'd made a mess of folding the clothes, and had almost water damaged the floor eagerly soaking everything with the mop. In the end, Sugu had deposited her in the kitchen where she knew what she was doing and wouldn't cause too much trouble.
But . . . She'd been so happy to do it all with them.
"You're home late." Asuna murmured as he walked up behind her, careful to be sure she sensed him before putting his arms around her. He could hear the smile in her voice as she leaned back into him.
"Un." Kirito nodded tiredly. He breathed in her scent. The spice of her hair. It was infinitely subtle, sweat, and soap, and the melange of cooking spices, and of walking the city streets. He wanted to be lost in it, in the realness of her presence. "After we got back from Freelia we had some sleuthing to do around Arrun."
Just a little while longer, he told himself. For a little longer, he could keep her like this.
"Was it worth it?" It turned out she was scrubbing out a dutch oven.
Cooking was so much more complicated here, yet Asuna made it seem easy. She said the utility spells helped a lot. She could get a fire to temperature quickly. The oven and stove were well designed for their fuel source and the kitchen was supremely well ventilated. It made cooking about as pleasant as it was possible to be given the circumstances.
"Un. I think so. We picked up an important lead. We know all about the monster. Now we can hunt it down before it hurts anyone else." Kirito leaned against her gently
"I see . . ." She paused. "So . . . It must only be a few more days then."
"Actually, we're not really sure." Kirito admitted. "It could be. Or it could be a week or more. Sorry."
It was okay, he'd tell her the truth soon. Just a little longer.
"Well it is just a dangerous creature, right?" The Maeve reasoned. He saw the ghost of her face reflected in the fading light of the garden window. Her smile was distant. "Nothing that I need to be concerned about."
"Right." He told her again. "It's exactly that . . . Where's Yui, by the way?"
"Off with Leafa on some errands." The maeve explained and then . . . "Kirito-kun," She gently untangled herself from his embrace and turned to face him. She was still smiling, but now that he could see her fully, not just the pale reflection in the window glass, it didn't reach her eyes.
"Why have you been lying to me?" She asked.
"I . . ." The Spriggan youth started, he rubbed the back of his head, smiled and tried to brush it off. "Y'know, I just didn't want to worry you, is all. I got three months rest and you've barely had three weeks so . . . Asuna?"
In front of him, his wife's head had slumped forward, her hair hid her eyes as she began to tremble and shake. The smile twisted as it fought to stay on her face only to transform into a tight lipped grimace.
"You lied to me." Asuna whispered.
"I didn't lie exactly."
Why did he say it like that?! He knew it was a mistake even as it came from his lip. "We really are hunting a monster so . . ."
"You're helping to chase down a serial killer!" Asuna raised her voice, suddenly he was looking her in the eyes and they were full of anger like he'd never seen. Not at raid meetings, not even before the final raid against the <<Skull Reaper>>. But when she spoke, her voice was flat and cold. Like he was a stranger once more. It left a hollow in his gut. "You lied about what you were doing. You said I could trust you. I did trust you."
"I . . ." Kirito shook his head. "If you knew, I knew you'd get involved." He knew how Asuna was. He'd argued with her, stood his ground, to keep her home and safe while she rested and recovered from her ordeal. "I wanted you to be able to live in peace." That was the truth, but it was spoken too late.
"Live in peace? Kirito, this world isn't going to let us hide in a <<Safe Zone>> the danger is going to come for us. And if it's already here you shouldn't be stopping me."
He knew that too but . . . "That's exactly why!" His voice was rising to meet hers. He didn't mean to yell. "I wanted to protect you!"
'I was scared!' He wanted to say.
"By putting me in a cage?!"
In the silence that followed, they both seemed stunned, as if slapped. Kirito was the first to recover, he took a step forward and Asuna stepped back. She turned away, bypassing him on the way to the front door.
"Where are you going?!" Kirito called after her.
"The Salamander Guild Hall. I'm going to accept Mortimer's offer."
"What? No, you can't!"
"Oh?" Asuna stopped at the coat wrack. "And why can't I?"
Kirito opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say. He wanted to be candid now more than ever. He wanted to beg for Asuna's forgiveness. He wanted, more than anything, to admit he'd been a fool to keep it from her. Anything to stop her walking out the door. But he could sense there was nothing he could say, right then, that would put everything right. He'd broken something between them, Kirito realized. So he closed his mouth.
The Maeve nodded her head, slipped on her coat, and disappeared out the door.
The black swordsman stood in cold silence.
Kirito had no doubt that the assassin was their murderer. They had a face. It bothered him, but he wasn't sure why.
Their attacker had known the illusion spell <<Mimic>>, he could just as easily have been wearing the mask of a Spriggan to throw off pursuit.
One of Freelia's Watchmen had been able to sketch the assailant from their descriptions. Now they had to take it to someone who would know any Spriggans of note. Asking at the Kurotaka guild hall had been enough to get directions.
On the way out of the timber framed hall of the most notorious of Spriggan Guilds, Kirito noted the guards, both in full ancient grade armor and wielding matching spears. They looked tough and imposing. That was the point. The attacks were having an effect on even the most self assured factions.
Their destination turned out to be a high class area, Kormt Street, the yellow brick road lined with apartments decorated in vine wrapped iron fences and delicately budding creepers. Number 294 was a small townhouse adjacent to an arcade sheltering a cross street.
"Nice," Jensen observed. "But not exactly what I was expecting of a Lord." The Undined had followed Argo and Kirito while his partner had gone to lodge their report.
"It's just a place to crash while she's in town. Argo pulled down her hood. "If you want to see fancy, take a look at the Lord's mansion in Muisca. So. You want to knock or should I?"
Jensen shrugged.
Argo did the honors.
They waited.
And waited.
And waited . . .
"Maybe she's not home." Kirito suggested. Jensen pointed wordlessly to a sign hung beside the mailbox.
A Chibi-Morgiana held her spear in one hand, giving a victory sign, sticking out her tongue, and winked. At the bottom of the sign, a message had been painted.
Big Sis Is In!
Kirito turned the sign over to reveal the Chibi-Morgiana running off with another hand painted caption.
Big Sis Is Out!
Had someone pulled this woman from a Manga? Kirito heard the lock turning. The door opened fractionally.
"Lady Morgiana" the watch officer stepped smoothly in front of Argo, "I am Officer Jensen, I am with the Arrun Watch and . . ." The Undine's introduction fell off.
Kirito hadn't known what to expect of Morgiana in her own home. Not for the Lady of the Spriggans to answer the door half dressed.
Morgiana squinted, leaning sleepily against the wall as she rubbed at one darkly ringed, watery eye, her unbraided hair was tangled and haggard and hung messily off her shoulders.
"Yes?" She even sounded like she'd just crawled out of bed. "Can I help you with something?"
"You weren't at your Guild", Kirito managed to look at Morgiana without looking anywhere in particular. "It's very important that we talk to you."
"Kirito. So you're with the watch now?" The Spriggan woman perked up a little. "Hm, yeah, I've been feeling pretty lousy the last couple days. Who'd have guessed we could get the flu? So, an investigation huh?"
"Not an investigation," Jensen recovered, "the investigation."
Morgiana opened her eyes wide, sickness forgotten. "I'm guessing this should be a private conversation . . ." She gestured as the door opened fully. "Come on in."
It took a moment for Kirito's eyes to adjust. Only a little light penetrated the blinds to reveal a sparsely furnished room. A pile of blankets had fallen to the ground beside the sofa and the coffee table was covered in empty bottles and half eaten plates of toast and fruit. The air felt thick and stuffy.
Morgiana flopped down heavily, half reclining as she waved them to adjacent chairs. "Sorry for the mess, I've been trying to sleep this off. So, you're the ones who've been investigating the murders?"
Kirito nodded as he took one of the offered seats, meeting Morgiana's gray eyes. "And we might have a lead. You're not going to like it though."
Argo produced the illustrations, handing them to Morgiana whose expression, after a moment of study, went suddenly grim. A short hiss blew through her teeth as she tossed the drawings onto the coffee table, she pulled a hand slowly over her face.
"He's a Spriggan alright."
"So you know him?" Jensen asked, voice neutral.
"Not personally." Morgiana clarified with a mirthless grin, "But his reputation precedes him . . . Rip Jack."
"Rip . . . Jack . . . ?" Kirito muttered.
"Yeah, it's that sort of tacky handle."
"Jack the Ripper." Argo elaborated. "A serial killer who terrorized Victorian London. He was known to cut his victims throats."
Kirito felt his heart sink. Then they really were looking at a Laughing Coffin type killer.
"The method of murder is right." Jensen agreed. "But Jack the Ripper targeted prostitutes, not government officials, and he mutilated his victims."
"Sawing through their throats isn't mutilation?" Kirito asked. "If he's the kind of guy who got a rush playing a villain, I mean really getting into that role, maybe he just couldn't handle it. He might have just . . . snapped." And become what he pretended to be.
Jensen snorted. "Leave the profiling to people with experience, kid."
Kirito felt a little of the same annoyance felt by Argo. They'd seen this sort of killer before where Jensen had not. Being dismissed was . . . Kirito stopped himself. Personal feelings didn't matter. Stopping the murders did.
"Morgiana-san, can you find out if anyone has seen Jack recently." Kirito thought carefully. "He has to have interacted with somebody."
"That's going to be a problem." Morgiana's eyes fixed intensely on the tabletop. Looking through the sketches rather than at them. "Like I said, I didn't much care for the little troll when I booted him, and until just now, I cared even less. All I know is that he and his friends were hanging around the edge of Sylph territory."
"His Friends?" Jensen asked quickly. "Don't tell us there are more."
"Maybe two or three." Morgiana said. "They kept going out and ganking the Newbies, really killed a lot of the fun. That's when I finally broke down and banished them."
"Better and better." Argo whispered.
Morgiana's face twisted in confusion. "I don't get it. Jack was creepy, ghoulish, and weird. But he can't have just started killing like that!" She snapped her fingers. "I mean, I read about the SAO incident. Didn't it take months for murders to start cropping up?"
Jensen and Morgiana rested eyes on Argo and Kirito.
"Not quite." Kirito said uneasily, palms itching. He'd gotten his wish, he was suddenly the expert, and suddenly he didn't want it. "There were some early attempts. In the heat of the moment." Mostly unsuccessful . . . "But those were mainly people trying to secure an advantage." The Spriggan youth frowned as he looked for the right word. "They were . . . calculated. Not like Laughing Coffin. That happened later. But these are different circumstances and maybe . . ."
"Maybe what?" Morgiana leaned closer, conspiratorially.
"You know the news about players feeling . . . changed? Undine's don't like to get too dry and Salamanders hate it when it's cold . . . Last night, Argo snapped into some sort of frenzy when the assassin tried to attack." Kirito observed. "She was . . . like a startled cat . . . Uhm . . . No offense."
"It saved my life." Argo steepled her fingers thoughtfully. "So I won't complain sa."
Morgiana's eyes narrowed. "Hold on a second. You're not trying to say that Jack being a Spriggan has something to do with this?!"
"I don't know." Kirito felt very tired as he admitted his privately held fear. "But we can't ignore it, because people are going to think it when the news gets out."
They needed more eyes than just the Watch could provide. They needed a manhunt. But the price of putting a face to ALfheim's first murderer would be acknowledging that he was a Spriggan.
People remembered firsts . . .
Slamming her palms on the tabletop, Morgiana half rose. "My kids aren't murderers!"
Then, seeing the surprise at her outburst, she sank back onto the sofa. Morgiana spread her arms wide as she looked up at the ceiling and began to quietly count down from ten.
"If it is Jack, then you're facing an illusion master whose main method of delivering damage is his blade work." She said without turning her eyes from the ceiling. "You're going to need scouts tagging everyone to keep an eye out for illusion or stealth spells."
"We're already on it." Jensen said. "Watch Officers have instructions to in groups of three with at least one scout. SOP is to tag anyone suspicious with a Tracer."
"Manpower's gonna be tight." Morgiana observed. "<<Mimic>> used right can be a lot more potent than invisibility spells. You can see the user. But they're also more free to act than somebody under a cloak. I'll forward some of our illusionists to the Watch."
"It'd be appreciated." Jensen rose to his feet, straightening out his deep blue coat. "There's one other thing."
"Oh?" Morgiana smiled mirthlessly. "Just one?"
"You mentioned hearing that Jack was hanging around Sylph Territory before the transition." Jensen said. "We'd be interested in hearing from whoever gave you that information." Morgiana bit her lip. "Lady Morgiana?" Jensen asked. "Anything that helps us close this case . . ."
"I know." Morgiana snapped. Kirito wondered if she hadn't been shaken out of character. "It's just that, the person I heard it from is . . . Gene."
"General Eugene?" Kirito asked.
"Yeah." Morgiana grimaced. "Jack was one of Mort's assassins."
Before he knew it, Kirito was being ushered out behind Argo and Jensen. The door slammed shut behind them and the investigators were left on the front step, back in the light and the cool fresh morning breeze. A few pedestrians turned their heads to note the odd sight before returning to their own business.
Kirito took a moment to collect his thoughts, looking out over the rooftops of the nearby buildings, eyes gravitating to a pair of dark shapes sitting off of one of the eves like Gargoyles. The stylized hawk logo glinted in the sunlight. He suspected those two were just the only guards he could see.
"So . . . Where to next?" He asked.
They'd just hit a windfall of information that would be enough to lift even Argo's spirits. Only it had created just as many troubling new questions.
"Head back to Watch HQ and plot our next move." Argo decided. "And after that, we need to have a talk with Lord Mortimer."
"Vakarian can do it." Jensen suggested. "Mortimer trusted him enough to assign him to this investigation personally . . ." The Undine paused as he realized what he had just said.
Argo planted her face in her palm. "Beautiful."
____________________________________________________________________________
In her zeal, Louise had gravely miscalculated.
She had assumed that waiting tables, a Commoner task, would be trivially mastered by a Noblewoman. She had been half correct.
The pace of the work alone was grueling. Once the evening crowds arrived there was hardly a free moment. But Louise had been prepared to trade in her labor and was no stranger to hard work. She had not been so prepared, however, to trade in her dignity.
Louise pulled on the lace hem of her skirt as she navigated by candle light through the noise and steam, the smoke and cloistered heat, of a tavern filled to bursting with night's revelries.
Squeezing through the ever shifting ever cramped quarters, followed by a cometary tail of ribbons and bows. She was crushed against patrons, buffeted by orders, and here and there was certain she felt something brush up against her leg.
"You! Girl! Another!"
Her inebriated client raised an empty wine bottle over his head impatiently tapping on the label as if she were too stupid to remember.
"Oh! ~ O-of course – S-sir . . . I mean . . . M-master!" She wanted to wretch saying such a thing to the crude oaf leering at her with misted eyes.
'I was right the first time, Kirche should have taken this job.' Louise thought miserably as she hurried behind the counter. The Germanian would probably revel in the attention.
She scanned over the wine bottles until she found what she was looking for. Cutting the wax cap, she rushed back to her client.
"Excuse me." Jessica squeezed by, less with a walk and more with a bustle, occupying all at once two or three times more space than her slight frame required. It seemed to have the effect of repelling the guests and giving her room to breathe. On her arms, she balanced dizzying stacks of plates and bottles, always on the edge, but never quite toppling.
She'd been on the floor longer than Louise, and yet she hardly looked short of breath. All the while she wore a striking smile.
Louise was at a loss for how the girls did it. They parted the crowds and kept ever just out of reach of groping hands, chatting cheerfully with favorite customers. Always with an ease that Louise thought simply had to be magical in nature. There was an enchantment at work here somewhere.
Between frustration and the exhaustion of a long night , Louise hadn't noticed the buckle of one of her shoes come loose. Nore the toe catching on a step. Momentum carried her forward, she made one last skipping hop, and then began to topple.
An arm caught her around the stomach, thin, but supple and strong, it barely budged as Louise threw her weight against it for support. The nasal laughter of her rescuer filled the air.
"You okay?" KoKo asked cheerily. As if saving Louise was just a brief diversion from her fun.
"Y-yeah . . . Thanks." Louise mumbled.
"You look flushed." A little concern crept into the felinid woman's expression, "Are you sure you're okay? Jessica-san and I can take over if you need to have a lay down."
"I'm fine." Louise insisted, nonetheless feeling a pangue of envy.
The Faerie was good at this. Everything from her mannerisms to her manner of dress. Which Louise did not understand, but understood to be ruthlessly strategic.
The Shop Proprietor and his daughter had held a heated debate after securing the faerie's cooperation. In Mademoiselle's own words, "Having found my model, now I am in want of a canvas!"
That was when KoKo had come forward with her own ideas. Strange Faerie ideas. Scarron's eyes had glinted with intense interest. The matter was passed back and forth between Father and Daughter, a consensus was reached.
Long black skirt, pleated white apron, cuffed and collared blouse, cap that emphasized her ears, ribbons, frills, and bows, and a final touch, a slender black collar, complete with a brass bell that chimed sweetly as she moved.
If anything, it was more modest than what the Cait woman normally wore, but the commoners and petty mages couldn't seem to get enough. Her popularity had flourished.
"Miss KoKo!"
"Please hurry back my darling!"
"Mademoiselle, we seem to have spilled our wine!"
KoKo's ears perked up as she spun about, holding her hands in a pawing gesture. "Just one meow-ment!"
The Cait turned back to Louise. She tilted her head. "Are you sure you're doing alright?"
"I'm fine. Fine!" With beckoning customers, KoKo didn't have time to press the matter.
She watched the Faerie make her way through the crowds, sidestepping and spinning about to avoid the more physical guests while teasing playfully with those who touched only with their eyes. Louise's mind rebelled as she watched KoKo flirting like Kirche.
"Girl!"
Louise grit her teeth. "Coming Monsieur." Louise called, hurrying back with her best fake smile. Until de'Martou made his appearance, she had to excel.
So when the customer asked her to pour him another drink, she did, and when the customer asked her to sit in his lap, she did. And when the customer reached under her skirt, she drove her elbow hard into his sternum in exactly the way mother had taught her.
What mother had neglected to explain was that, a grown man, stomach full of food and wine, did not react well to being hit viciously, physiologically speaking. Naturally, it being Louise's customer it had been her responsibility to make good of the mess.
By the time Louise had finished with the resulting revolting business the other girls had switched from trying to earn tips to coaxing customers to depart, gently helping the cooperative to the door, helping the less cooperative a little less gently with assistance from Mademoiselle.
When the last customer had departed, the girls had put up their hair, done up their skirts, and joined Louise in scrubbing down the tables and floor. Work wasn't finished until the shop was ready for the next day.
Finally, as Louise sank into a waiting chair, the night's tally was taken and displayed on a blackboard showing each girl's take.
KoKo had ended up neck and neck with Jessica. That was unsurprising. Her novelty alone was drawing admirers.
What was surprising was the way in which the girls responded. Informed by the Academy, Louise had expected them to resent a newcomer who had shown them all up. But instead, there were only words of congratulations and thanks.
"That had to be half again as many customers as we've had any night this month." Mona nodded to a smaller, redheaded girl.
"At least! I didn't have a spare second all night. And the new ones were really loose with their spending. Trying to impress her. Miss KoKo really knows how to work the crowd!"
"Here here!" The girls cheered while making a meal of the night's leftovers.
Louise had not felt like celebrating. Scarron performed her tally last. Tonight's incident had been bad, the flat, thin lipped look given to her by Mademoiselle was even worse.
"That brings the total to twelve plates and eight bottles." Scarron said, taking her aside. "We can deduct it from your take for the time being, I suppose." The Monsieur who styled himself a Mademoiselle shook his head. "We'll just consider this part of the learning process."
And so, Louise had found herself handing over the scant few coins she had fought hard to collect. A thin slip of paper was dropped into the jar beneath her name announcing the remainder of her debt. Seeing the number put up on the board in red chalk nearly made her weep.
She did weep when she and KoKo were finally alone. Louise sat knees tucked under chin. Hands raw and feet sore. With nary a groan, she tipped onto her side, arms wrapped around her legs as she laid in her cot.
Their room, little more than a repurposed space in the attic, was dusty and stuffy with only a small, glassless window to let in the night air. A pair of cots and a small chest comprised its entire furnishing.
Scarron had apologized endlessly when he had shown them where they were expected to sleep, fearing that his new Faerie hire would decide to quit on the spot.
It was simply the way of this place that the rooms were assigned in order of seniority, without exception. A measure of fairness devised to ward against resentment among the girls.
But KoKo had not complained. The Cait had not even wrinkled her nose before following Louise into exile.
"I'm terrible." Louise mumbled into her pillow. "I didn't just not earn tips, I earned negative tips. I went into debt by working!"
"Now, now." KoKo soothed, stroking her hair. "You've never done work like this before."
"Commoners do it!" Louise raised her voice and then fell silent. The walls were not so thick that her voice would not carry. "I mean . . . " Louise whispered. "I expected it to be hard work. But not this . . ."
"Complicated?" KoKo provided? Louise nodded. That was a good word for it. "And why wouldn't it be complicated? The girls here entertain all sorts of customers at all times of day. And they always wear a smile. People skills like that are prized where I come from and I bet it's the same here too."
"R-right." Louise should have known that, she admitted. If she'd ever thought much about any skill that was not innately magical. The Founder knew that her time at the academy had revealed her to not be the most personable . . . person. But then . . . "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" KoKo tilted her head.
"All of it." She felt much too tired to explain right now. "You're such a natural or . . . experienced. Did you do this kind of work before?" KoKo's expression went blank, and for a moment the Cait woman was completely still. "I'm sorry," Louise said quickly, "I shouldn't have asked."
KoKo's expression changed smoothly, becoming again warm and congenial. "Did I do work like this? No, not exactly. But I had a friend who took jobs in theme cafes back in school. So I guess I have an idea about how these sorts of places work."
That explained where all of the ideas she had volunteered to Scarron were coming from. But even so . . .
"I still don't like it. Acting indecently I mean." Louise hugged herself a little tighter. Not even a fiance had the right to presume some of the things the tavern's clientele tried to get up to. Louise had not missed the way some of the girls let some of them, their favorites, get away with it, either.
"Well, I wouldn't say . . ."
"Commoner girls may whore themselves like that but I . . ." Louise fell silent as she felt KoKo's stroking stop. When she looked up, Louise flinched at the look in the cait's eyes.
Not anger, far worse than that, disappointment.
"Louise. You shouldn't say such things!" The Faerie woman's warning as heavy and severe as an axe blade.
Louise was for a moment at a loss, her answer died in her throat. It paralyzed her just as it did when she imagined mother's disappointment.
"You shouldn't think so unkindly of people without understanding their lives." KoKo said. "Scarron-san and his daughter have been very patient Louise, and they really are trying to help you, in their own way."
"I-I know." Was it too late to simply apologize? "But then, what is it? I'm expected to . . . to flirt with the customers? Don't you know how indecent that looks?!"
"Flirt, yes." KoKo said. "Put up with harassment, never." She patted Louise on the head. "Is that what you think those girls are doing? What I've been doing?"
Briefly, Louise was frozen in horror. Was this why KoKo's temper had flared? "I'm so sorry KoKo I . . ."
"Nyeh heh heh!" The Cait's laughter was soft and nasally, turning to gentle lisp as it faded leaving Louise at a loss. "It's alright, I just forget how sheltered you are sometimes."
Louise gave the Cait a sour look. "If 'sheltered' is a way to say I've been given a proper upbringing then yes!" She said with only the barest hint of pride as she crossed her arms before her chest. "A young Lady shouldn't act so . . . so forward with someone who is not a suitor."
"So those are the rules huh?" KoKo asked.
"Yes. Those are the rules." Louise agreed.
"But rules are different when you're playing a game right?"
"What?"
"Or a play. Well, I guess everyone who acts in plays and operas right now are boys aren't they?" KoKo mused to herself.
Louise shook her head. "KoKo, you're not making any sense."
KoKo sat a little straighter as she assumed an instructive pose. "What I'm saying is the reason the other girls have a much easier time is that they make a game of it, and so do the customers. In fact, I think Jessica-chan would punch someone if they thought she was a prostitute."
Louise frowned. "But what about people like . . . well . . . " The memory lingered. Much like the smell of bile.
"Some people," KoKo breathed, "Don't follow the rules. And that's what Scarron-san is here for. If you let Scarron-san do his work, nothing gets hurt but someone's pride."
"It being a game does explain why you seem to enjoy it so much." Louise looked at her slyly. "Maybe a little too much!"
The Cait tilted her head again, giving a closed eyed, embarrassed smile. "Nnnnnnn~ Maybe? Maybe I just really like the attention. You know, I'm not this super-cute in that other world so it's sort of flattering." She struck another little, cat-like pose to emphasize her point.
Louise giggled.
"There you go. See, things aren't so bad." KoKo pulled her into a reassuring hug. Louise could feel the faint purring from deep within her chest. "Feeling a little better?"
"Yeah." Just the act of laughing had lifted her spirits.
"So, you think you'll be ready for another round tomorrow? Don't worry, I'll give you pointers. Just bring your determination, m'kay? And if any of those guys does anything that Scarron-san can't handle, I'll give'm a scratching."
"I'll give it a try." Louise decided, leaning against KoKo's offered shoulder. It was a lot like being with Cattleya. Except for that part. Her eye cracked open again as she noticed the warm curling sensation wrapping around her waist. Louise reached down, and very gently brushed her hand along the length of KoKo's tail.
KoKo went rigidly straight, face flushing darkly.
"N-nyaa?!"
__________________________________________________________________________
The Manor of the de'Martou squatted in the Tristain Countryside, low, and sullen, its walls weathered and gray. It looked less a house and more a piece of the landscape. Helped along by shrubs and saplings grown by neglect.
It had been the home of a Tristanian Knight, once. The times had changed and so too had the character of the nation.
The Knight had died and his sons had failed to earn a peerage. The land had been gradually partitioned off by death and inheritance until only the ruin of a house and its grounds remained.
It could be supposed that growing to adulthood surrounded by the bones of a noble lineage would have profoundly affected a young Terrance de Martou.
Not that any of the clandestine observers would have been inclined to think such things. Nor would they have cared if they did. The times had changed and so too the character of the nation.
They had no titles. Their names and faces were not known at Court. There was no glory for them nor any honor. They served only for a modest wage and a quiet dignity. They were loyal to Tristain and to its Crown.
Rough women ready and willing to do what needed to be done.
Ready. Willing. But anxious.
Lieutenant Agnes propped herself up on elbows as she observed the manor from the cover of a hunting blind hidden within the treeline. Holding a spyglass up to her eye, she adjusted the focus until a lone traveler resolved themselves, long mane of red hair bouncing as she sauntered.
The musket squadron had put de'Martou's property under surveillance long before Agnes had learned of a young Noble meddling where she didn't belong. But what their surveillance had gleaned was precious little. That the manor was occupied. And that men and material were coming and going.
The chance to change that may have inspired her to act against her better judgment.
What she had gathered about Kirche had left the impression of a noble-born thrill seeker. Not the qualities one looked for in a task that required a cool head and a steady temperament.
"Are you sure she knows what she is doing?" Agnes asked the girl laying next to her.
"Good at improvising." The girl, Tabitha, whispered in a soft monotone that Agnes associated with disinterest. "No one better."
Agnes gestured to the markswomen hidden in the trees to be ready with their long rifles. If worst came to worst they could render some assistance.
A hand closed around her wrist. Grip ginger but unyielding, and pulled her arm gently back to her side. The lieutenant met Tabitha's eyes.
"She'll be fine." The girl said. This time matter of fact.
Girl. Child. This was truly a Gallian Chevalier?
Agnes had not believed it at first. Even when told by a mage with the trust and the ear of her Royal Highness. She assumed it was some lark of the Mad King to create a child a knight.
If so, nobody had told Tabitha.
Dressed in dark gambeson, the same shade of deep blue favored by sharpshooter's for their night cloaks. The gnarled oak staff, a respectable mage's focus, had been joined by a steel battle-rod. There was a calmness about her, a matter of factness, she had not not complained of difficulty or discomfort in the way that all but the most hardened nobles tended to do.
And then there was her dragon . . .
A daughter of the Germanian house Anhalt-Zerbst. A Gallian Chevalier. And denizens of ALfheim . . .
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing." Agnes replied. "Her Highness' friends keep interesting company."
Tabitha merely shrugged before turning her attention back to the manor.
If they were even half as able as they were interesting then perhaps there was nothing to fear.
__________________________________________________________________________
Being covert was all well and good. But the thing about being covert, Kirche thought, was all of the hiding.
Being covert meant that you didn't dare get close. You didn't dare be seen or heard. You couldn't touch or examine or join in a conversation.
What was more, why bother being invisible when you could pretend to be something else?
Sometimes overt was best. And Kirche was nothing but overt.
If it were possible, the de'Martou manor looked even more miserable than it had at a distance. Rotting window frames, gardens overgrown, birds nesting in the roof. She would have guessed it abandoned. What it ought to have been was condemned.
The once grand oak door was no better than the rest of the place only hanging on by stubbornness.
A badly tarnished brass knocker sat imposingly, shaped into the visage of a roaring manticore. Kirche grabbed hold, lifting it, brass struck wood three times, three heavy, deep, -knocks-.
Kirche stood back expectantly. First, she was patient, then she began tapping her foot. She knocked again, and again she was left to wait, an almost insufferable insult.
'They'd come running if they knew what was waiting for them.' She thought.
She was about to lift the knocker again when she heard the turning of locks. Lots of locks. It went on for a disconcerting amount of time followed by the door opening with all the charm of a crypt.
"Wha'd ya want?!" A voice growled suspiciously.
"Good day kind Zir." Kirche bobbed forward at the waist, just enough to flash a hint of bolstered cleavage. The man blinked rapidly before shaking his head.
"Come again?"
"Vhy, I zaid good day. Or vould a how do yu do vi more in order? I muzt zay all of zese Tristanian customs are most confuzing!" Grabbing her arms, Kirche wagged from side to side. "Oh, von't you pleaze help? I've been walking all day and zeen -ardly a vriendly vace!"
The door opened a little wider.
He was altogether average, indistinct in a way that was itself exceptional. Average height, but with the right choice of clothes would have given the impression he was taller or shorter at a distance. Stalky or slim. Brown hair that in the right light or with a little grease could be turned black or with the application of the proper powders could be mistaken for a dirty blonde. Brown eyes, or were they black?
Handsome, Kirche supposed, or maybe not. It was hard to say.
"Come again, Miss?"
"Eik! How very rude of me! To not even introduce mein zelf!" Stepping back, Kirche curtsied her long traveling skirt. "I am Kirche Augusta Fredericka von Anhalt-Zerbst and I -ave been attending at great honor at the Tristain Academy of Majiks."
"Zerbst?" A flash of recognition appeared and passed in the man's eyes.
"Yez!" Proud expression turned to distress as she pouted. "Vut, vith ze Faeries now inhabiting ze countryzide, mein family was mozt inziztant zat I make a hazty return, before they could even zpare a chaperone, vut -" She covered her face with with her forearm, an action that, incidentally, did wonders for her bosom. "I vear I have become lozt!"
"Lozt?" The man parroted.
"Yez, Lozt." Wasn't this how everyone thought Germanian's spoke? What good was a stereotype if she couldn't exploit it?
"You mean lost!"
"Yez. Lozt!" Kirche tried not to roll her eyes.
"Chadrick, who's there?"
"It's just some girl who's gotten herself lozt . . . I mean lost. I'll have her away in just a minute."
"Ach, Nein! Certainly not zis late in ze day?!" Kirche pointed to where the sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon.
"Shorely you'd not make a young voman brave ze elements with all of ze vicious Faerie creatures! I vould be mooozzzt grateful and mooozzzt graciouze if you were to reconzider."
The man's mouth opened . . . and then fell further open as she clasped her hands together and leaned just a bit further forward. She imagined the scales working behind his eyes.
"I suppose . . . That wouldn't be very proper of me, would it?" Chadrick said as he licked his lips. There was an accompanying change in his voice. A slowing of his words. More deliberate. More assured.
Almost . . . suave.
"Chadrick, how much longer will you be at that blasted door?! We need you in here." Another voice, higher pitched, asked impatiently.
"Just a moment longer."
"Not a moment longer!" A second man, shorter than Chadrick came into view. Shorter, and older, with a compact powerful build. A focus hung in a ready holster on his belt. "I thought you said you were telling her off!"
"Enough, Digby!" The younger man snapped with sudden authority. His impression was that of a chameleon, and his personality was alike, changing to suit him. "The young Miss has simply been on the road most of the day and lost her bearings."
"And her predicament is hardly our business." Digby countered before turning to appraise Kirche. "I'd say she can take care of herself."
"Oh, pleaze kind Zir!" Kirche repeated. "I promiz I'll ve no trouble. Only vor ze one night and I shall go in ze morning!"
Chadrick's lips thinned as he nodded severely. He gestured to Kirche. "As she's said, she'll keep out of the way. Where would our propriety be if we turned her out?"
"A few leagues higher than this place is where." She thought she heard Digby say. "And besides Chadrick my boy, do you forget that we are guests in your friend's house. It is not our propriety to show."
Chadrick's only reply was to wave a dismissive hand. "Hardly at all. I'd say it would reflect ill on de'Martou if his friend's failure to show hospitality in his place. The company will do us good I think."
"Oh yez!" Kirche smiled as was lead inside. "Mozt goot!"
____________________________________________________________________________
Not long ago at all, Botan would have been petrified by the dark. Head full of stories woven by Hinagiku to keep her and her siblings in line, the darkness had been a frightening thing made up of all manners of monsters that just wanted to gobble up little Pixies.
But then she had come to understand that there was nothing special about the darkness to be frightened of, no danger that didn't also exist in the light. It was just . . . dark.
And that was no trouble for her.
Sniffing deeply, she teased apart the air for the faint trace of overt sweetness. Navigating between rafters, squeezing through the cracks too small for a mouse, she followed first by scent and then by sound.
Dim candle light was shining up through cracks in the ceiling. A conveniently placed rafter made the perfect spot to observe. Botan peered down into the beings' world.
Of course Botan had seen Kirche undress before and there was nothing at all strange about her save her size and lack of wings. It was the room's other occupant that was odd to look at.
A male.
"You've veen mozt kind to me, Monzieur Chadrick." Kirche said as she left her blouse and skirt hanging from a chair in one corner as she adjusted her small clothes.
Opposite Kirche, seated atop an old mattress, the human male named Chadrick, clutched the neck of a bottle of wine in one hand, a plate of bread and fruit sitting on a tray beside him. He was undressed down to trousers, displaying dark hairy chest.
"It was hardly anything at all Miss Zerbst. And as I've said, your company has been enjoyable. I didn't expect another devotee of Shaks Pierre to make herself known in this backwater."
"Doubt that the starz are fire, Doubt that the doth move his aidez . . ." Kirche said, the funny voice she was putting on fading a little.
"Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love." Chadrick finished with a laugh. "Really, a shame not to see his plays as they were meant. He wrote them for the Theater in Londinium, they say, there really is no place else to see them."
"Zuch a shame, truly." Kirche pouted as she crawled up onto the bed, wrapping arms around the man from behind and purring. "Alzough, I do zink part of ze vun is in acting zem out meinzelf."
"Is that so?"
"Juzt zo!"
What came next . . .
'Nnnnn! Gross!'
Morbid curiosity got the better of her and Botan peaked out with one eye to see Kirche in the midst of pressing her lips, the entirety of her body really, against Chadrick.
Chadrick fumbled with the straps of Kirche's brazier but never quite seemed to get his fingers to move the right way. Slowly, his efforts subsided, hands falling to rest limply at his sides.
He began to snore.
Kirche drew back, sitting up atop the man with a look of mild disappointment as she carefully wiped her lips. "Well, that's a shame."
Climbing off the bed, she carefully arranged the male's hands on top of his chest and stepped gingerly back to where she had left her clothes.
The Germanian dressed quickly but neglected her boots in favor of a pair of soft soled slippers. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting." Kirche frowned. "You are there, aren't you? I'd feel terribly silly if I'm talking to myself."
Botan sighed as she rolled off of the rafter. She came to hover in front of Kirche, arms crossed.
"What's the matter?" Kirche asked.
"You sure seemed to be enjoying yourself . . . I thought you were really going to mate with him."
"Really?" The being looked bemused. "And what gave you that idea? Talking with Louise I suppose . . ."
She wasn't going to dignify that with an answer. "The guards just changed." Botan nodded back to the drugged male. "How long until he wakes up?"
Kirche gave Chadrick a glance "Probably not until morning. It gets more powerful the more you drink. By then, he'll have made up his own happy story about tonight."
"You must have a lot of experience with that stuff." Botan said under her breath.
"It does keep the boorish ones entertained. So, lead the way."
The Pixie settled on Kirche's shoulder. The manor's rooms were pitch black, but Botan knew the way. She had been exploring the house for over a week. Slipping in at dusk and venturing back just before dawn.
It hadn't been hard. Being homes were big. It was insane. A nest so big that countless small lives were lost in its shadows. A fact that Botan had used to her advantage.
The birds living in the eves had carried her to and from the forest unnoticed. And a lovely family of field mice had saved her work by showing her the best way into the pantries.
Which was where she had found it. Made of thick, well maintained wood, banded in iron, and fitting its door frame so snugly not even a pixie could squeeze her way inside. If there was any place in the house that was storing secrets, that would be it.
So Tabitha had concocted this plan. And Kirche had volunteered herself. And Agnes had agreed. And Botan had scouted the way.
It had to be Kirche, it was decided. Not only was she a capable mage. She was a Zerbst, whatever that was, meaning even if she was caught snooping around the men wouldn't dare harm her.
They traveled the length of the west wing and took the cramped servant's stairs down to the kitchens. They could have snuck down through the grand hall, but this way kept them clear of the occupied sections of the house.
Kirche examined the door and its mechanisms while Botan kept watch. The beings had never used this door so late at night. But they came to take food and wine from the cellar at all hours.
"Well?" The Pixie asked impatiently.
"Well." Kirche answered, not a whisper, but a murmur that was swallowed up within inches of her lips. "I'm no Earth Mage, but . . ."
Carefully tapping her wand and tracing a circle which ended in a flourish, Kirche stepped back as a faint, heavy -click- issued from the door. Both infiltrators looked about to make sure that they hadn't been heard.
The door opened and shut silently on smooth, oiled hinges.
Darkness, silence, stagnant air, then a soft -snap- as a light appeared at the end of Kirche's wand. It was dim, but still enough to dazzle their dark adjusted eyes.
They were at the top of a narrow stairway that descended steeply downward between walls of smoothly sculpted stone. "Old construction." Kirche muttered to herself. "Maybe a castle that was here before?"
"You think?" Botan whispered.
"We have places like this back home." Kirche explained. "Boltholes in case an inter house feud gets bloody."
They descended what felt like a worrying distance before narrow stairway opened abruptly, causing a feeling like vertigo as the walls fell away and the ceiling reared up into shadow that swallowed their meager light.
They had been admitted to a chamber, vast and vaulted, and jam packed with crates and casks, barrels that smelled faintly of hay and wax and other more alchemical odors that Botan had scented in the laboratories of the Count of Tarbes.
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"What the hell is this!"
The tall double doors opening with a thunder that silenced everyone in the room. The Lady of the Sylphs entered, accompanied by four of her personal retainers and the Black Swordsman Kirito. The Captain of Mortimer's Guards was already reaching for her sword before she recognized just who it was cutting a path through her Lord's sanctum.
Prepared as ever, when Arrun had become the nerve center of a Faerie government, Mortimer had already had a headquarters picked out in the form of the Salamander Guild Hall. The place practically oozed Mortimer.
Stark stone walls projected all the charm and warmth of a fortress, halls decorated in campaign banners, displays of weapons and armor, and dozens of oil paintings depicting battles ancient and contemporary. Sakuya recognized more of the paintings than she would ever admit.
The Lion of the North and The Battle of Trafalgar, Sakuya noted the two facing the tall windows. Perhaps most telling was the painting hung directly behind Mortimer, Sakuya didn't consider herself a fan of Jacques Louis David but seeing that particular painting depicting that particular man astride a horse didn't do much to improve her impression of the person beneath it.
Sitting behind a massive oak desk, the First Lord of Gaddan looked up from a pile of reports and frowned minutely. "Ah, Sakuya-chan, how lovely for you to visit. No, let yourself in, I'll call for tea."
"You've got a lot of nerve for someone keeping secrets." Sakuya strode across the room. Mortimer must have have been compensating for something with such an ostentatious waste of space, but she wasn't going to let it intimidate her.
Frown deepening, the Salamander set down his pen. "Pardon?"
Sakuya's anger boiled.
"Rip Jack."
Mortimer's bloody eyes narrowed. The Salamander Lord laced his fingers. "That is not something I am going to discuss while you have half of your staff in tow."
Sakuya grimaced. She instructed her entourage to wait outside. Ephi going only reluctantly with a look of anxiety to leave his Lord alone. Mortimer did the same with his own confused subordinates, Lidea also half heartedly resisting, until the only ones left in the room were Sakuya, Mortimer, and by mutual consent to bare witness, Kirito.
Mortimer waited for the door to be shut and the sound of footsteps to fade. "Do you know how long it's been since I'd given that name a moment's thought?"
"Tell me."
"Two months, or rather, eight weeks. At the time I was putting a bounty on your head after I learned about the alliance that you and Alicia were planning. Of course, then I was approached by your former subordinate and a new avenue opened. Plans changed."
"Which one told you?" Sakuya gathered her arms into the robes of her Yukata, refusing to back down from Mortimer's gaze.
The Salamander remained as emotionless as ever. "Who told me about Rip Jack? Vakarian-san of course. He recognized the man that Miss Argo described and thought to report it directly to me. Though Morgiana did warn me about what she'd told the investigation, I suppose her relationship with my Brother counts for something."
"And you expect me to believe that?" Sakuya half asked and half wondered out loud. "That seems like a bit much from a man who put his own pet cop on the investigation."
Mortimer snorted derisively, eyes glancing to Kirito. "You mean the way that you assigned your own loyal crow? Or did you expect me to choose a person I did not trust for such a sensitive matter?"
"That isn't really a fair comparison, is it?" Sakuya and Mortimer both turned their attention to the Spriggan youth.
"I mean," Kirito continued voicing his thoughts out loud, "It isn't suspicious that you knew the Assassin. And it isn't suspicious that Vakarian-san was chosen for the investigation. I'm sorry, it isn't my policy to doubt people," Kirito shook his head, "But Vakarian-san withheld important information from the rest of us. That alone makes him very suspicious. And by extension, it makes you a suspect as well Lord Mortimer."
She was surprised again that the boy, at least she thought he was as young as he looked, could manage so well. She'd seen the same calm in Thinker and Yulier, and in the swordswoman Asuna. Just what had SAO done to them really?
Sakuya nodded once to Mortimer. "You should speak honestly with us now, or this is going to keep looking worse. Why did Vakarian try to keep this from the investigation?"
"Tell me Sakuya. How many Sylphs are there?" The Salamander leaned back in his chair, blinking with reptilian slowness. "Please, I know you have an exact number."
An obtuse question, and yet Mortimer demanded a direct answer. "Eight thousand two hundred and thirteen." That had been the tally of the latest and most accurate census. Minus one.
Mortimer nodded. "And there are eight thousand one hundred and seventy Salamanders. Together, we represent over a quarter of all of the Faeries in Tristain. Then tell me, how would it look if it came out that the Salamander had employed the man who has been terrorizing our streets and killing our people? Especially when those people are all high ranking Sylphs and Cait Syth."
"You're trying to protect your reputation?" Three dead and an investigator nearly killed in her sleep and still Mortimer showed not one whit of emotion. Sakuya began to tremble. 'Say something you bastard!'
"My reputation? No." Mortimer said. "The reputation of the Salamanders is much more important." Kirito stiffened faintly at Sakuya's side. "I imagine, the reason that you came here to speak to me rather than hanging me in public is the same reason that Vakarian did not immediately divulge the suspect's identity."
"Morgiana is in the same situation being the Lady of the Spriggans." Mortimer nodded to Kirito. "How do you think people will feel knowing that our first murderer comes from your . . . faction? Or maybe faction is too transient a word, maybe we should call it your race."
Kirito voiced no reply, only stared through Mortimer.
The Salamander rose slowly from his desk, leaving his cane leaned against the side of the table. "This is a new world Sakuya. It doesn't matter who or what we were before. And I will not have the eight thousand one hundred and seventy Salamanders that I am responsible for alienated from their own kin because of a coincidence."
"And you've done a fine job of it, haven't you?" Sakuya asked. "Look at where we are now." She waved to the room with its vaulted ceiling and polished marble floor. To the windows that looked out on the plaza of the huge guild hall. And beyond to the City of Arrun, the breathing city that was being threatened in its infancy by the shadow of a murderer.
A faint widening of the eyes. That was all that Sakuya's outburst had netted her from Mortimer. "How can you expect any of us to trust you?"
Mortimer tilted his head, at last showing a hint of irritation. "Truthfully, it doesn't matter if you trust me or not. I do not need your trust Sakuya. The only thing I need is your belief that our interests align."
She couldn't afford that. Her mistakes could cost lives.
"I want your full cooperation and I want Vakarian taken off the investigation." Sakuya said suddenly. If they couldn't trust Mortimer, then they couldn't trust Mortimer's pet, not so long as he refused to cooperate.
Mortimer's taciturn continence reasserted itself. "You do know that he is a member of the city watch, we agreed that we cannot interfere in an ongoing investigation."
"Take him off." Sakuya repeated. "Or explain to him why he should dismiss himself. If you care so much, let Morgiana send one of her own people to replace him. The Spriggans have the greatest number of Illusion Masters and know Rip Jack better than anyone. We may not trust each other, but at least we can both trust Morgiana."
"Trust isn't the matter. Rather, it's qualification." Mortimer said slowly. "Believe it or not, I've actually known Vakarian for quite a long time in that other world and can vouch for his law enforcement background. That is why I wanted him on the case first and foremost."
"Given his judgment, I'd call that a condemnation rather than an endorsement." Sakuya said. "This is going to go public Mortimer. We need to start taking active measures immediately to hunt Rip Jak down before he kills again. Your faction has a great deal of good will thanks to your part in planning the Newcastle Evacuation. You can take the hit to your name and still weather this."
Sakuya shook her head. "But only if you start working with us. This is happening whether you want it to or not." Mortimer didn't say a word, she didn't expect him to. "I've already sent word to the other Lords. You have until tonight, then we'll make the announcement. Take whatever measures you think are suitable."
Turning her head. "Kirito." The Spriggan looked to her. "Unless you have any questions, I do not think we should waste any more of the First Lord of Gaddan's time."
Kirito nodded. "That's everything for now, I think." He looked past Sakuya. "But I might need to come back later depending on what the investigation turns up."
"My door is always open, Kirito-kun." Mortimer said said with only a hint of distaste.
Sakuya did her best to glide rather than storm from his office. Yes, glide, be graceful, be graceful like the wind. She had predicted that she'd feel like this, but not so strongly.
But she'd faced turmoil in the past and she dealt with this the same way, pushing it down as deeply as she could and hoping that when it finally came back up it would be in one of the rare moments when nobody else was around. Then she would shout and rage and throw whatever happened to be in reach. But for now, she was the serene Lady of the Sylphs.
The Captain of the Guard escorted them out. Sakuya didn't speak to the Spriggan at her side until they were back in the Guild Plaza. Receiving glances from passing Fae beneath the brick deco. "Well . . . What did you think of that Kirito?"
"Are you asking my opinion?"
"Your observations, yes." Sakuya answered. "A second set of eyes and a second opinion can do wonders." If only she'd waited for Alicia.
The Spriggan youth shrugged his shoulders faintly. Kirito possessed something of tell, a learned quality that manifested itself as a look of mild reluctance whenever he was confronted by any sort of hard question.
"The one thing I can say." Kirito said quietly. "I don't think Mortimer was lying to us."
"Oh?" Sakuya asked. "And why is that?"
"Hmmm." Kirito crossed his arms. "Like Mortimer said, no matter what his ambitions, our interests right now align. Nobody wants a murderer running free. I think his reasons for hiding his relationship with Jack are sincere."
"Sincere maybe." Sakuya was willing to admit. "But deeply misguided."
"Milady." Ephi approached at the head of her guards. He wore and expression of concern which faded as he saw Sakuya's sour expression. "It did not go well, I fear."
"It did not." She agreed. "Kirito, I would be grateful if you keep the Lord's and I abreast. I will not detain you from the investigation for a moment longer." The Spriggan said his goodbyes and excused himself to return to his mission.
"Was there anything I should be kept abreast of, Milady?" Ephi asked as they parted ways with the young Spriggan.
"Nothing that you couldn't predict." Sakuya decided. "We confronted Mortimer, Mortimer denied his involvement. But . . . I believe Kirito is correct that this is mishandled damage control."
"And that is your opinion Milady?"
"It is what I hope to be true." Sakuya said. Because the alternative was not worth thinking about.
"Then it must be so." Ephi decided. "Except . . . "
"Go on."
"I have a confession to make Milady. I fear you may not like it. But it is best you know the truth."
"Oh?" Sakuya answered in a way that left it unsaid, 'this ought to be good'.
Ephi closed his eyes and steeled himself. "Before I created the avatar you see before you. I used to play for the Salamander faction. This was originally my alternate account."
Sakuya blinked as she took this in. As confessions went, it was underwhelming. Many players had possessed alternates. It was almost stranger not to have one. Perhaps the only surprise was that which it invoked in her retainers.
"Ephi-san?" Nana, one of Novair's subordinate secretaries, questioned. "But . . ." Murmurs from her other guards threatened to boil over before Sakuya shot out a hand. Then, everyone fell silent.
That was why she had to remain calm. Always calm. Always composed. It was the dignity and grace of Lady Sakuya which gave her power over them. Ephi's eyes widened.
"So." Sakuya said. "Why tell me this now?"
The Sylph, who had once been a Salamander, breathed in. "Your trust was just betrayed by Lord Mortimer, Milady. I did not want the same to happen between us. With Novair and Liliana gone I want you to know you can trust the man watching your life."
"That is . . . really very honorable of you Ephi." Sakuya bowed her head graciously. "I thank you for your honesty." She glanced at the other Sylphs. As if her decision had broken the spell, they all looked to one another sheepishly.
"Yeah, Ephi's fine." One of guards scratched the back of his neck. "So what if he played Salamander. So long as he's a true Sylph now it doesn't matter."
"Thank you." Her guard commander bowed." But please, all of you, remember that moment of doubt. Remember that we Fae are more alike than different. Mortimer might be a controlling man. He may not tolerate Sakuya-sama's opposition. But we mustn't follow his path. We mustn't make all Salamanders our enemies."
The Sylph Lord nodded. As speeches went, it was as good as some, and better than most. She suspected Ephi had been composing it for just such an occasion. Well, she wouldn't begrudge the man his chance to look good to his subordinates.
Doubt niggled as Sakuya's wings materialized and she took to the sky. Mortimer was a controlling man. And he did not tolerate dissent. The Salamanders were not their enemies. But did that make their Lord an ally?
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Home again.
The front door opened and closed, muting the late afternoon street. Kirito rested his back against the hardwood, closed his eyes, and counted down from ten.
His brow furrowed as a thought crossed his mind and he blindly sought out and turned the deadbolt with a heavy, reassuring, -toonk-, of interlocking brass.
He'd crossed swords with Jack. Looked the killer in the eye and seen no fear. If he was anything like the murderers guild, Jack would remember their meeting. He'd seek to make it personal. He'd . . .
He had to tell Asuna, Kirito realized, tonight he knew, but . . . Just few more hours of peace. Without worry. He could give her that. Had to give her that. Asuna deserved that and so much more.
He could hear her moving about the kitchen. The fading scent of something that had been cooked earlier in the day. Something with nuts and honey, his nose told him.
He creeped across the living room, silent as a ghost. The floor had all the hallmarks of being newly made. There were no creaking joists, no squeaky boards. Only the muted padding of bare feet on hardwood and then tile.
There she was, doing something over the sink. He wanted to smile. He remembered their first week together in this house, the four of them, as a family. They'd agreed to devote the morning to cleaning up the house. Mopping the floor, scrubbing the bath, getting the laundry taken to the wash and put away. Asuna had woken them all up early. He couldn't remember ever seeing someone so excited to clean.
Only it turned out that, despite being a masterful chef, the Maeve's other domestic skills left a lot to be desired. Asuna could keep her own spaces organized and tidy, but she'd made a mess of folding the clothes, and had almost water damaged the floor eagerly soaking everything with the mop. In the end, Sugu had deposited her in the kitchen where she knew what she was doing and wouldn't cause too much trouble.
But . . . She'd been so happy to do it all with them.
"You're home late." Asuna murmured as he walked up behind her, careful to be sure she sensed him before putting his arms around her. He could hear the smile in her voice as she leaned back into him.
"Un." Kirito nodded tiredly. He breathed in her scent. The spice of her hair. It was infinitely subtle, sweat, and soap, and the melange of cooking spices, and of walking the city streets. He wanted to be lost in it, in the realness of her presence. "After we got back from Freelia we had some sleuthing to do around Arrun."
Just a little while longer, he told himself. For a little longer, he could keep her like this.
"Was it worth it?" It turned out she was scrubbing out a dutch oven.
Cooking was so much more complicated here, yet Asuna made it seem easy. She said the utility spells helped a lot. She could get a fire to temperature quickly. The oven and stove were well designed for their fuel source and the kitchen was supremely well ventilated. It made cooking about as pleasant as it was possible to be given the circumstances.
"Un. I think so. We picked up an important lead. We know all about the monster. Now we can hunt it down before it hurts anyone else." Kirito leaned against her gently
"I see . . ." She paused. "So . . . It must only be a few more days then."
"Actually, we're not really sure." Kirito admitted. "It could be. Or it could be a week or more. Sorry."
It was okay, he'd tell her the truth soon. Just a little longer.
"Well it is just a dangerous creature, right?" The Maeve reasoned. He saw the ghost of her face reflected in the fading light of the garden window. Her smile was distant. "Nothing that I need to be concerned about."
"Right." He told her again. "It's exactly that . . . Where's Yui, by the way?"
"Off with Leafa on some errands." The maeve explained and then . . . "Kirito-kun," She gently untangled herself from his embrace and turned to face him. She was still smiling, but now that he could see her fully, not just the pale reflection in the window glass, it didn't reach her eyes.
"Why have you been lying to me?" She asked.
"I . . ." The Spriggan youth started, he rubbed the back of his head, smiled and tried to brush it off. "Y'know, I just didn't want to worry you, is all. I got three months rest and you've barely had three weeks so . . . Asuna?"
In front of him, his wife's head had slumped forward, her hair hid her eyes as she began to tremble and shake. The smile twisted as it fought to stay on her face only to transform into a tight lipped grimace.
"You lied to me." Asuna whispered.
"I didn't lie exactly."
Why did he say it like that?! He knew it was a mistake even as it came from his lip. "We really are hunting a monster so . . ."
"You're helping to chase down a serial killer!" Asuna raised her voice, suddenly he was looking her in the eyes and they were full of anger like he'd never seen. Not at raid meetings, not even before the final raid against the <<Skull Reaper>>. But when she spoke, her voice was flat and cold. Like he was a stranger once more. It left a hollow in his gut. "You lied about what you were doing. You said I could trust you. I did trust you."
"I . . ." Kirito shook his head. "If you knew, I knew you'd get involved." He knew how Asuna was. He'd argued with her, stood his ground, to keep her home and safe while she rested and recovered from her ordeal. "I wanted you to be able to live in peace." That was the truth, but it was spoken too late.
"Live in peace? Kirito, this world isn't going to let us hide in a <<Safe Zone>> the danger is going to come for us. And if it's already here you shouldn't be stopping me."
He knew that too but . . . "That's exactly why!" His voice was rising to meet hers. He didn't mean to yell. "I wanted to protect you!"
'I was scared!' He wanted to say.
"By putting me in a cage?!"
In the silence that followed, they both seemed stunned, as if slapped. Kirito was the first to recover, he took a step forward and Asuna stepped back. She turned away, bypassing him on the way to the front door.
"Where are you going?!" Kirito called after her.
"The Salamander Guild Hall. I'm going to accept Mortimer's offer."
"What? No, you can't!"
"Oh?" Asuna stopped at the coat wrack. "And why can't I?"
Kirito opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say. He wanted to be candid now more than ever. He wanted to beg for Asuna's forgiveness. He wanted, more than anything, to admit he'd been a fool to keep it from her. Anything to stop her walking out the door. But he could sense there was nothing he could say, right then, that would put everything right. He'd broken something between them, Kirito realized. So he closed his mouth.
The Maeve nodded her head, slipped on her coat, and disappeared out the door.
The black swordsman stood in cold silence.
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