Shadows

Scouting For Chains I

The biting wind would not heed as the three women sauntered down the barren road. In a perfect triangle formation, they walked briskly, pointed heels crunching on snow and sleet, thick coats rippling in the breeze.

They were silent, but there was more meaning in the sharp eyes looking straight ahead and the casual glance over their shoulders, as if it were second nature.

The two behind the first glanced at each other, a message shared on the same wavelength. Finally. They let out a synchronized breath, silver ribbons against a starless night. They each had a mask in one gloved hand, specially designed themselves. In the other, the party invitation.

The trio rounded the corner, and surrounded by lavish homes and apartment complexes, was a domed building, spotlighted by vibrant oranges and yellows. Its front was adorned with golden sculptures and white marble columns, two giant wooden doors looming over the front steps. They had arrived at Canroy Hall — a vital organ within Andreyes. A place where Lords and Ladies and government officials come to entertain one another in their variety of illusions of reality, threading a quilt of colors and light and lies. Tonight, however, these three women would tear one tapestry of reality to shreds.

About twenty yards from the entrance, they quietly slipped on their masks. The woman in front — their leader — adorned a simple white mask that covered her right side of her face and the bridge of her nose, a drawstring securing it over her blonde hair, tightly bound into a bun. The one on the left, a head taller than the one on the right, also wore a white mask that covered her nose but both her eyes, her brown hair curling from the mask's strap, cascading over her shoulders. It was decorated with silver paint, gold ribbon lining the edges, blending into her dark skin. The one on the right had slipped on a black and white diamond-patterned eye mask, fringed with black lace, in tone with her dark hair, tied back in a coiled braid secured to the nape of her neck.

They stepped onto the lit courtyard in front of Canroy Hall, and an elderly gentleman approached them, a white-gloved hand outstretched, beckoning their invitations. They each handed them over, and three carefully practiced smiles flashed as they passed him. It was quiet enough that they could hear their footsteps echoing, tree branches rustling, and as they climbed the slick stairs, the wind seemed to have held its breath, for an oncoming storm was on the horizon.

Another gentleman took their coats, and they revealed their gowns, perfect copies of ones worn by the wealthy. They moved passed the doors and were greeted with a much brighter light and a cacophony of murmurs, glass, and music. A woman nearby immediately approached the leader.

"Madame Dalnore, welcome. We have been expecting you." She dipped her head slightly, ringlets of her hair cascading from her shoulders, her gold mask with white feathers reflecting the light of the chandeliers. She straightened up and gestured with a gloved hand. Without a cue, the two other girls followed Madame Dalnore who followed the woman into the ocean of gods and goddesses. The woman's red dress barely brushed the floor. Their destination lied with a man, who was kindly laughing with two women. He adorned an eye mask of deep blue. He was a tall and broad shouldered man. A full glass of champagne was in his hand.

"Master Soto, your colleague is here," the woman announced, cutting off one of the women mid-speech. Master Soto looked passed her shoulder. Madame Dalnore tilted her chin slightly. He reciprocated the same gesture. Acknowledgement between two leaders, but not friends. Nor allies. Master Soto pardoned himself and walked over to Madame Dalnore, then swiftly plucked a champagne from a nearby tray and offered it to her. Without a word they both took a sip.

"And so, the Scouting begins, Madame Dalnore," he declared, the fringe of his dark hair brushing his mask.

"I see we are evenly matched, Master Soto," she observed, her eyes flickering to the two girls he had left behind, who were now staring intently at them.

"Sadly, no one has approached my girls yet," he said.

"The night is still young," she mused.

"Maybe yours will have better luck," he said, tagging a laugh to the end of his sentence. Madame Dalnore joined in, but there was no hint of humor from either. They held each other's gazes before both turned on their heels and walked back to their parties.

"You both better find a Lord before the music ends," Madame Dalnore murmured. "Or you can expect neither of you will leave here tonight."

The two girls nodded once, and melted into the crowd in opposite directions.

A Scouting has only two guidelines; a bodyguard cannot expose themselves as a bodyguard directly and a Lord or Lady must not show they are in search of one. No one knows what the other looks like. It's an impossible task, but it's the only way for a servant and master to find one another.