Ghosts of Koa

The Closed File

 The Closed File

Seductive ribbons of smoke curled up from the candles set on the low table. Tiny flames illumed the small tearoom, their light latticed by the pink rays of sunset that bled through the wall-to-wall shoji doors. Shadows fluttered against the walls and inked tapestries. 

Ridiculous.

Xakiah frowned and sat back on the downy floor pillow trying to shake the haze that eclipsed his focus. Azures were used to such luxuries, but he’d never taken to them. There was nothing inherently powerful about the space. Like all other places designed by Azure architects, this one was built to dull the senses and slow the mind. Even the most discriminating Azure would be so sensually overwhelmed that he wouldn’t be able to suss out a disturbance in the air, nor would he detect the soft padded footfalls of a lurking Koan assassin. It was a velvet slaughterhouse.

He homed in on his company of five, all of whom seemed quite at home in the midst of the sensual delights. Dispersed between the bowls of steamed rice and curries, five silver lockboxes sat on the small table, one for each guest.

“Do you all have safe places where they can be stored?” Xakiah asked. “Gentlemen?”

“Yes, yeah, uh huh,” the group of councilmen responded, but not quite in unison. 

The strange collection of people always made it difficult to run a roundtable, especially around dinnertime. At Xakiah’s right, ever-quiet Sablo Peterson was lips-deep in a swig of coffee and had only half gurgled out his reply. Mikhail Beige swooned next to him, having just single-handedly polished off the last of the vodka. At Xakiah’s left sat Hans Muirgin, a charlatan if he’d ever met one. Despite the ornate gold ring on Muirgin’s left ring finger, he flirted shamelessly with Esther Monona, the only female councilmember in the group. The wrinkled hen-like woman giggled, turning away as Muirgin leaned into her cheek. 

The largest and most attentive councilman, Ismail Billings, sat directly across from them. He scowled murderously at the raucous pair of paramours but nodded at Xakiah before stuffing another helping of chicken laab into his mouth.

“All the arrangements have been made, my boy. Just as your Vassal has requested,” Billings announced, putting down his chopsticks. “You may consider your artifact in safe hands.” He cut a disapproving look at Muirgin, Monona, and Beige. “Relatively safe hands.”

Xakiah felt himself relax, even if only a little. Billings was the head of the small council; he’d at least make an attempt to keep the others from screwing up. “That’s good to hear,” he replied. “And now for the rest of you—”

Snap! Snap! Snap! 

Thick fingers cracked open the air about a foot from Xakiah’s face as Muirgin tried to get his attention. 

“Hey, messenga boy!”

Xakiah's fingers clenched into a fist, but as he pivoted, an eyeful of tropical color nearly blinded him. 

Muirgin was brightly clad in a leathery orange and yellow zoot suit, and about six golden rings adorned his thick manicured fingers, including the wedding band he so dutifully ignored. Muirgin was wearing another one of those disgusting suits of his, the kind that looked as though it should be plugged into a wall outlet and lit up to bring business into a porn store. That Muirgin had paid his way up the ranks was the worst kept secret of the Order, ill-kept by Muirgin himself who was always throwing his money around and squawking about it. 

Like a parrot taking it in the ass.

Xakiah would only be doing the Order a favor by snapping his neck. But luckily, the sudden fluorescent break in his thought pattern had given him a moment to recoup. Cool calm pooled into him, but he made sure his scowl was unmistakeable as his gaze on Muirgin darkened.