When The Petal Fell

5-2

"So, two men walk into a bordello. One throws himself from a window, just like that. Why? The other man doesn't make him jump. But walks away as if nothing had happened and everyone who works in the bordello is made to forget, even the Thought Mage." Klaron didn't realise she was speaking out loud, if only in a whisper to herself.

"Not everyone who works here." Aletandera dipped her head, tightening her clothes once again.

"What?" Her head snapped forward. "Someone didn't forget?"

"Someone wasn't here. Little Manderi. Poor lass got a dose needs clearing up." Aletandera waved a hand in a vague direction. "She's laid up at the House of Reflection. Fancy name for a clinic, if you ask me."

"Manderi. What does she look like?" Klaron knew of the House of Reflection, a place for the whores of the Underside to get their sexual diseases healed.

All of a sudden, Klaron had a flash of something in her mind. It was almost painful. She saw the smiling face of a Fae girl, hair of the finest, golden colour. Pretty, with a fresh green tinge of a sapling to her skin. A girl of bare minimum age for her calling, around thirty human years old. As soon as the face appeared, it disappeared and she found herself back outside the bordello. She stared at Aletandera.

"Seemed easier to show than tell." The older woman shrugged. "And, aye, I could've been more subtle. Now, off with you. I have work to do."

This time Klaron believed the woman would say no more. She had given Klaron much to think about, in the meantime. It seemed her next stop would be at the House of Reflection.

-+-

The latest reports now burned in the brazier. The usual comings and goings. The usual hints and whispers about people of interest, and some about those who now became of interest. The most important report, at the moment, had reached his hands through several trusted intermediaries, slipping into his office unnoticed.

He read the report once again. Klaron's investigation continued with few solid leads, some interesting rumours and one disturbing development. He tapped his lip, deep in thought, before twisting to the side and holding the report above the flames in the brazier. The paper curled and browned, soon catching alight, and Rifnarus held the report until a bare scrap remained, dropping it into the brazier and poking the embers.

It could be a coincidence, he surmised. Pirizd, the Chief Thought Mage, making an appointment to discuss various inconsequential topics happened often enough during the normal course of events, that, at any other time, Rifnarus could pass it off as one of his many daily duties. The timing, so soon after Klaron's interview with the mage, felt suspect. Rifnarus did not like coincidences. He didn't believe the world to be that random.

Standing, he finished the tea Vocha had prepared earlier, grimacing as he realised he had allowed it to grow cold. Setting the cup aside, he lifted his long coat of office and swung it on to his arms in an elaborate sweep, shrugging it onto his shoulders and adjusting the cuffs. Glancing at the pitted, murky mirror beside the door, he wondered if he should grow a beard. One of those that people associated with villains in mummer plays. Of course not, never tip the hand until it needed playing.

"Vocha. Were you waiting for me to stir, or just happened to come along at the right moment?" The stand-in assistant furrowed his brow as he tried to decide which answer Rifnarus would prefer. "Never mind. Is everything in place? Everyone?"

"It is and they are, My Lord." Vocha fussed over Rifnarus, adjusting the hang of the coat of office, finding a small brush from somewhere and giving the coat a light once over. "Is there anything you feel I need to be informed about, My Lord?"