Private Investigation

Take it to the grave

As per tradition, the funeral procession travelled through the village so that everyone was able to pay their respects. When the day came though, very few locals lined the streets, be that down to their loyalty to Tedros or the fear of supporting a murder victim. Those that did attend had travelled far. Some wore sharp pin-stripe suits and polished leather shoes while others were dressed in patched up jackets and faded trousers. It shocked Sophie how many lives Rhian had touched, but she knew better than most it was not always in a good way. 

The carriage carrying the young 'Lord's' coffin was pulled by four majestic stallions with midnight black fur and a wreath of red roses around each of their necks. Sophie walked directly behind the carriage, beginning to regret her choice of footwear on the cobbled streets. A black veil covered most of her face, obscuring her expressions which varied with every person she recognised.  The carriage turned a corner onto Gagan way and past Pipp's inn. Sophie looked up and saw a girl's face in the window, peaking down at the procession through a gap in the curtains. It was Nicola looking, for the first time in her life, scared. Sophie then realised that every building had their curtains drawn tightly with the odd child peaking out with curiosity only to be snatched away by their mother. 

As Sophie turned to look at another house a bald man caught her attention. His face was covered in boils and warts and he seemed familiar but Sophie couldn't quite place him until she saw the man beside him. A sharp contrast, this man had smooth porcelain skin, glacial blue eyes and hair the colour of snow. 

These people were not hiding from Rhian.

They were hiding from Rafal. 

***

"Oh Aggie, you should have seen him. Sat right on the front row, he didn't take his eyes off me for the whole show. Not once." An eighteen year old Sophie was spinning around the room in a daze going on about a crystal eyed man. The feathered hem of her dressing gown fanned around her as she twirled across the floor. 

Meanwhile Agatha was sat on a makeshift cushion of old dresses that Sophie had discarded, eating a bag of chips she had bought on the way to visit her best friend. "If a random guy was staring at me, I'd call the cops." 

"Aggie, it's love! I just know it. Anyway isn't that what Pendragon does all day? stare at you?" 

"Who?" 

Sophie dropped herself onto some clothes next to Agatha and eyed up her greasy take away with disgust. "Oh you know, that boy you met the other week." 

"Tedros?" Agatha questioned still utterly confused, "he doesn't like me." 

"You invited him to one of your silly ever meetings, though." 

"To prove a point not... whatever is going through your head." 

"I bet you my satin evening gown he likes you, no, loves you." 

Agatha rolled her eyes at the bet before Sophie returned to her speech about loving a stranger, and how it isn't at all dangerous. 

After about half an hour Agatha had finally managed to make Sophie get changed. They were just about to leave when someone knocked on the dressing room door. Irritated, Agatha went to answer it while Sophie dug through clothes, searching for a coat. "Is it too cold for my Chanel coat?" 

"Just because you wrote Chanel on it doesn't make it chanel." 

Agatha was greeted at the door by a tall skinny man around her age with black hair combed back and slick with product in an attempt to mimic the trend. "What do you want, greaser?" 

He started to read off a piece  of paper he thought was discretely hidden in his hand but he was yet to look up and see who answered. "Mr Mistral requests your presence at the- wow. How much make up do you wear on stage?" The boy recoiled, shocked by the difference.