The Dare of Truth [slash]

Chapter 2

By lunchtime, Fyn had a full schedule for the following week: two concerts, one opera premiere, three exhibitions at galleries, a fair for interior design, and a runway show. Most people might have been thanking their boss for practically paying them to have fun, but Fyn was not most people. Although he liked concerts, exhibitions and the like, he hated the way famous people tended to use such events to get into the limelight. But he had to be thankful that his editor-in-chief hadn't assigned him to the gossip department. Although, given his research skills, he might have dug up a lot of nasty secrets on the actors, musicians, and starlets of this city.

The lifebearer just wanted to head out to grab some lunch when Celia poked her head in. "Sorry, Mr. Sheldon, but there's someone looking for you. A Mr. Solir?"

Fyn frowned. "Yes. Let him in, please."

He hadn't expected that guy to show up today already. The note from Mr. McKenzie had told him that Fyn's new partner would be the editor-in-chief's brother-in-law, Eondar Solir. The sire was a photographer and would be accompanying Fyn from now on.

Just what Fyn needed: some stuck-up rich guy who only got the job due to his relation to the boss. He had really hoped to be spared the guy's presence a bit longer, but today just wasn't his day. He had to brace himself for the worst.

A very tall sire entered his office moments later. He was wearing a dark suit, and his skin was far more tanned than was usual for a lashran in these regions. Chocolate-brown hair framed his face, falling into his eyes. They were a cold, steely gray underneath bushy eyebrows. All in all, the man looked like a hitman from a movie thriller with an unreadable expression on his chiseled features to match.

And this was his new photographer?

Fyn remembered his manners, got up from his desk and extended a hand. "Eondar Solir? Mr. McKenzie told me to expect you. I'm Fyn Sheldon. Welcome to the "Valkyrie Times".

Mr. Solir hesitated a moment before taking Fyn's hand. His grip was firm, but not overly so. "Thank you. Hope I can be of some help to you, sir."

Fyn arched his eyebrows at that polite answer and the voice it was delivered in. The sire had a surprisingly soft and gentle voice despite it being very deep.

"Well, you don't have to call me that. You are surely older than me," Fyn amended while some of his worst worries began to fade. This guy sure didn't seem to be the overconfident type like he had expected.

"You're my senior here at work, Mr. Sheldon," Mr. Solir answered calmly. "And as far as reports from Avras society go, I'm a newcomer."

Ah, so the man was inexperienced! Fyn hated to be right. Nevertheless, he asked, "What have you been doing prior to this assignment? Mr. McKenzie just told me that you're a photographer, nothing else."

Solir's shoulders tensed a bit, although his face still betrayed nothing. "I've been travelling all over Wyndrah during the last twenty years as a photo journalist, reporting from every hot spot you can imagine. A few months ago I was on Azirus, documenting the clan wars there."

Now it was Fyn's turn to tense up. Azirus was one of the Zarn islands, infamous for their organised crime and modern pirate hideouts. No sane journalist would set foot there. It was a miracle the man was still alive. Speaking of which...

"Wait... Clan wars on Azirus? There was a brilliant documentary on TV a few weeks back. I didn't see you in it, but that's no wonder if you were the man behind the camera."

The sire nodded. "I was." His eyes darkened for a moment.

Now that the lifebearer had made the connection, he clearly remembered that documentary. The worst part, however, was the fact that one of the journalists had been killed there. A stray bullet had hit him during a street fight.

Fyn was intelligent enough not to pry any further, but now he could understand why someone like Eondar Solir had decided to do some harmless and easy work. Seeing a colleague getting killed right in front of your eyes... Fyn wouldn't dare to imagine how horrible that must have been.

Dropping the matter, the lifebearer gave his new photographer a cautious smile. "Well, now I know that you understand your business. We don't have any plans for today, so you can leaf through our photo archives to get a feeling for the way we like to illustrate our articles. Miss Warren will help you. And tomorrow, we'll be visiting a new exhibition at the Lunar Gallery."

Mr. Solir nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best to quickly adapt to the way things are handled here."

The photographer stayed true to his word. All afternoon, he was pouring over the archives according to Celia and just paused for a quick coffee. The girl was truly impressed with the sire, Fyn realized when she told him about it shortly before closing time. "He's really polite and nice despite his sinister looks," she added. "He even treated me like I was a long-time employee and HE was the new intern."

That was something Fyn liked to hear. And since he prided himself in being a good judge of character, Solir didn't just suck up to endear himself to his new co-workers. "Thanks for taking care of him, Celia," he said. "And let's hope he's also easy to work with."

Celia smiled. "I'm sure."

The next day, Fyn was about to find out. The exhibition's opening was in the evening, but Fyn had managed to get an appointment with Lunar Gallery's manager for 11 a.m. That way, the story would be going into print for the next morning already whereas everyone else who had to wait for the official opening would also have to wait another day for their articles to be published.

As the lifebearer gathered his recording device - an ancient, but trusted piece of technology that he had had since his childhood - and his electronic notepad, Eondar Solir was already waiting outside his office door with an expensive-looking camera in hand. "Good morning, sir," he greeted Fyn in that deep voice of his.

"Morning. Come on, let's head out," Fyn urged. "We can catch the bus."

"Wouldn't it be easier if we take my brother-in-law's car? He allowed me the use of it for any events during the day."

Fyn swallowed the urge to say something nasty concerning his editor-in-chief and nepotism, although it was indeed easier. "If you say so," he just answered. "But the city traffic is not fun, I'm warning you."

The photographer said nothing.

Ten minutes later, they were at Lunar Gallery. Fyn had no idea how they had managed to escape any accidents despite Solirs hazardous driving style, but it had been fast, so he wasn't about to complain.

As he exited the car, a very nice, silver cruiser, his right foot got caught on the edge of the door, and he stumbled. It was one of the reasons why he didn't like cars; they were just too impractical to maneuver in despite his tiny frame. Fyn all but expected to crash into the concrete floor face-first - as he had done often enough - but at the last moment, a strong arm caught him.

"Uh, thanks," the lifebearer mumbled, expecting a useless, patronizing comment in the lines of "be careful" or "are you alright?" like he had received far too often.

But Eondar Solir said nothing. He just made sure that Fyn had both feet safely on the ground before he let go of him.

To be continued...